#Mello replies

[hellfirebride]

Hey, thinking about it, how do you think Mello and L would react to the person they love confessing to them before they do? Ramble, headcanon list, or combo idc lol :p.

i am looking respectfully fdgfgd just some short little things

L and Mello when you confess first

L

Blinks exactly once before saying "Oh. That makes things easier."

L, honey, baby, sweetie. That is nowhere near an acceptable response to someone putting themselves out there like that to confess their love for you.

The only saving grace here is that if you're confessing to him, you're probably used to how he acts. So it's not much of a shock that his reply would be so... him.

Make no mistake, he's pretty pleased to hear it from you. Maybe even happy, though he doesn't seem particularly surprised. Geez, the least he could do is act like he couldn't already see through you from a mile away.

Mello

"What?" That's the best he can do as a first response.

Look, he always knew you confessing before he could was a possibility. He just didn't think it would happen so soon.

Either way, that wasn't how he would've wanted to react. He would've loved to be smug or at least a little more romantic about it.

He snaps out of it pretty quickly once he sees your face. You don't think he's rejecting you, right? You'd definitely be able to see how red he is when he grins at you.

[thearoaceshark]

How female wammy's boys and the task force be?

I never thought I'd get this question but I like it! I'll take this opportunity to say that if anyone wants to ask me about Death Note go ahead I would love to talk about it.

Warning: A LOT of text below.

First I would like to start with the Task Force (I clarify that I will use she/her for them when I'm talking about their fem version).

To begin with, it would be very difficult for Soichiro to become chief, in fact, I think she would not be chief. Because no matter how good a police officer she is, I doubt they would appoint a woman as police captain, especially a married woman with children. She and Aizawa are constantly questioned about their marriages, they do not believe that someone would be capable of marrying a woman with a temperament like Aizawa's and in their opinion Soichiro, being a mother, should not dedicate herself so much to her work in the police and they do not believe that her husband agrees with being a housewife (Sashiko has NO problem, they talked about it before getting married, she was not going to give up her goal of being a good police officer and he assured that he would support her and when they had Light her husband had no problem dedicating himself to work at home). So, she and the others being women would not have a high rank, but they are known for being good police officers so they earn a position in the Kira case, after everyone resigned and only Soichiro, Aizawa, Matsuda, Mogi and Ukita were left, L called them to work with her and named Soichiro, Chief Yagami (because she's L and she can do that).

For the rest, Aizawa is strongly criticized by her colleagues, being a married woman with children, it is not well regarded that she has such a strong character and be a police officer, many do not believe that she seriously has a stable relationship with her husband and daughter. However, she remains strong in the face of criticism, she wants to make the world a safer place and be a good figure for her daughter. She has great admiration for Soichiro and always wanted to be friends with her. When she returned to the Task Force they were able to get to know each other better and often bring both families to have dinner together. Soichiro and Ide also admire her, Soichiro for the good relationship she has with her family compared to her, because she feels that she is distancing herself from them, and Ide admires her for her hard-working personality, her great strength, conviction, and how she fights for justice, she considers her her best friend and for a time she had a crush on her.

Matsuda, oh my god, imagine all the times they criticize Matsuda but more frequently and the phrase "you had to be a woman" or "silly girl", and a little harassment from others police officers. They also criticize her even more for not having a partner. She is always told that she will never get a boyfriend as a police officer. Many times before the Kira case she would go home and start crying because they were very rude to her at work, until the Kira case started and she met Soichiro, she became an example figure for Matsuda, she admires and respects her a lot and tries hard to help her in the case. In the same way Soichiro made her her protégé when she noticed that she was being harassed by some of her coworkers. She and Misa would be BFF!! When they were investigating Takada and Light offered to get information out of her at first she thought it was a good idea but then she realized it and said "Hey, wouldn't that be cheating on Misa-Misa?!" Light managed to calm her down and convince her that it wasn't, but she still has doubts about it. Also, when Light begins his "act to use Takada" she notices that he says many phrases that her ex-boyfriends said to her when they were unfaithful, that made her feel very disappointed in Light but she convinced herself that It was for the investigation. Light's manipulation affected her a lot, she really liked him, a few years after the Kira case her friends convinced her to go to a psychologist.

Mogi was also criticized but thanks to her strong physique she gained a reputation faster than the others. They criticize her for her physical appearance but they don't dare to say it out loud, they are afraid of her. After the time skip when she has to be Misa's bodyguard she has more trust with her than in canon and sometimes they sleep together, mostly because Mogi has to console her because sometimes she got sad for Light, intrusive thoughts at 12 o'clock in the morning. It was a surprise to everyone to find out that apart from exercising, her other hobbies are poetry and watching TV dramas, and they were also surprised that she knew how to cook so well.

I don't know what things would change in Ide and Ukita. But them like with the others would be criticize a lot.

Now, the wammy boys if they were girls. The Wammy Girls. I believe that the Wammy's system would not discriminate against students based on gender (especially if L is female), but that does not mean that the orphanage children do not do it. I mean before they came to Wammy's they were normal citizens and their parents were raising them based on the system, so the kids would treat each other like they were taught by them. In other words, girls would not suffer discrimination in the educational system, but they would suffer social discrimination by other children (and from employees too)

We start with L, her attitude doesn't really change much, but they criticize her even more. "Why does a woman waste the best years of her life solving crimes?" "A lady doesn't dress like that, doesn't sit like that, or behave like that" "If you want to scare men away, you're doing a good job." Phrases she heard from the orphanage caretakers when she was a child at Wammy's. Anyway, she doesn't see the point, she knows that she is very far from fitting into the unwritten norms of society, and it doesn't bother her. It's L, she can do whatever she wants. Light definitely underestimates her, he believes that he can manipulate her like other women, and because of that several times puts himself between a wall and a sword. I literally think she would catch Light with no problem, because he would make his own grave by underestimating her (honestly, I think the Yotsuba Arc wouldn't even happen, or it would happen but different from the one we know). "The Nile is a river in Egypt, I'm 99.8% sure that your boyfriend is gay" phrase that she wanted to say to Misa but she didn't because according to Watari it would be very rude.

Mello, my queen, beautiful, smart, goddess. Aesthetically she wouldn't change much, I've seen that in some fanarts she has longer hair and a curvier body, and she looks just as beautiful, but honestly that's not necessary to make Mello more feminine. There is a lot of talk about Near looking very androgynous but there is no talk about Mello also not looking like a specific gender either, they look feminine but also masculine, and they slayed. She would have a lot of difficulty in the mafia, and she would suffer a LOT of harassment and sexism, until she became known for having no fear of tearing off heads and the gangsters began to be afraid of her. "You should smile more, you would look even prettier" "Why do you want the black dress? Wouldn't you like that pink one with flowers? Or that princess one over there?" "You're a girl, you can't play soccer with us, girls are bad" "A lady shouldn't talk like that," phrases she often heard. She likes girly things but when she was little she started rejecting them after some kids made fun of her for it, she started acting more masculine to be "strong" but they also made fun of her for it. In the end, when she grew up and surpassed that stage, she realized that they were going to criticize her no matter what she did, so she decided not to give importance to people, she began to dress more feminine, but without leaving the masculine. I feel that her desire to surpass Near, and have power is greater, she wants to show that she is capable of surpassing them all, Wammy's as an institution do not discriminated her, but her classmates did underestimate her a lot and she wants to shut their mouths by becoming in a powerfull figure (L or mafia leader whichever comes first).

Near, oh dear. When people saw her for the first time they thought she is very pretty, but then all her beauty is overshadowed by her attitude. In their words, she could be a very pretty girl and when she grows up she could get a good man, if she stopped that "strange" personality of hers. "You're a girl, sit properly" "You're very pretty, but you'd be even prettier if you smiled more" "Boys would like you if you acted more normal" "Near that's bad manners" "You're going to get wrinkles from being so serious" (that last one is courtesy of my mom, or at least she's the only person I know who says that). When she asked the staff at Wammy's to buy her toys she was thinking Legos, trains, robots, action figures. But they bought her dolls, stuffed animals, and a tea party set. She liked the stuffed animals but she didn't even pretend to be happy with the dolls and tea party set, in her words the dolls weren't even pretty (which shocked the staff at Wammy's because they were quite expensive porcelain dolls). Months later the children were taken to a store to pick out some toys and she was finally able to get the Legos she wanted, Roger told the employees to buy those types of toys for her. She resents having her hair brushed and once she make a tanstrum about it, they told her "Well, if you don't want to brush it, then cut it!" and she decided to cut her hair. It was a difficult decision because she liked her hair. When she grows up she decides to let it grow again, she brushes it herself from time to time, but it bothers her if others do it. If Light wasn't captured by L, and Near and Mello have to catch him, Light wouldn't underestimate N and Mello... Until he finds out that they were both women, and he only became more misogynistic than he already was after the time skip so. "I didn't want to bother giving unnecessary information for the case, L, but I will tell you that even if I am 18 years old I am perfectly qualified to be in charge of the SPK. I mentioned it because in our calls you seem to repeat very often that I am a young girl wasting her time. Please, don't do that anymore, I'm fine" something that Near had to say to Light in one of their calls. The SPK members would be super outraged to be led by a girl, especially one who looks so childish, but they wouldn't have time to complain because well, Mello+Death Note would happen.

For Matt. "Why does a girl play video games?" "You know a lot about cars to impress men, right?" "A lady doesn't sit like that" "You should have shaved" "Someday you will find a man who will make you feel the woman you are". She never felt like she fit into feminine for two reasons, one, she liked boys' things, two, she didn't think feminine suited her. She believed that she didn't fit in with feminine things, so she rejected them. "You should like more feminine things" Matt is sure that person didn't mean that she should like women, but that person should have thought twice before saying that to a lesbian. She doesn't dislike makeup, but she doesn't wear it and doesn't know how to do makeup. Once Mello helped her put on a little makeup.

Now, I know this has already been a lot of text, but I'm going to include Beyond, and A in this talk.

For A, I think that if L were still a man, she would feel even more pressure to success him, not because of L but because she hears the staff at Wammy's talk behind her back. She hears them underestimate her even though she is first in line, saying things like "The other children take L's role very lightly" "Are you sure she's number one?" "I don't think she's fit to succeed L." She would try to fight to prove them they are wrong but in the end she couldn't handle the pressure. If L were a woman, it would be strictly forbidden to treat successors differently because of her gender, she would have more support and could endure a little longer, but the end would be the same.

Beyond that, if L were still a man I can see her trying to look more masculine, but that's all. When people see her they think she is a witch.

Sorry if it's too long, I got a little excited hehe. I hope that answered your question, feel free to ask again if you want Anon! Have a good day 💖

(2nd part with fem! Light)

[xenospiza]

hiii <33 your art is adorable!! 🥺 I was wondering if you could draw either some lawlight or FtM mello x Matt , (I head cannon mello as FtM) XD 😖your art is super super pretty and I totally understand if you can’t lmao, take care ❤️❤️❤️🥰

hey thanks!! ive been planning on drawing a few of the common ships ive seen around (which already included lawlight) so ill for sure add ur Mello and Matt request to the list!!! love the ftm hc btw, i can totally see that for him (*^^*)

to anyone else interested in me showing specific headcanons, ships, or both at once, feel free to request em! As long as its not anything weird or suggestive i dont mind :3

[attroxx]

❛ @mellodiies said . . . "I will always protect you" / mia… ❜

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 ? it's such a big promise to suddenly say without much warrant for it to begin with. but when mia looks at him she can tell he's genuine. she'd heard those words before from many people but not once had it really felt like they meant it . . . not until now. but the princess feels that familiar guilt creeping up the back of her neck. why must so many people risk their well being to protect her ? how was that fair ? of course her status played into it . . . she can't ignore that. but mia can't exactly tell why mello would say such a thing. did he really consider their friendship that special ?

❛ while i really appreciate that mello . . . i will work to be someone who you don't need to protect. maybe i can protect you too . . . ❜ the princess offers a small smile. ❛ who is supposed to protect you if you're protecting everyone else ? ❜

send "i will always protect you" to see my muse's reaction.— accepting.

[winxerblink]

To this person : Bold of you to assume that I didn't listen to 'The Great War' lol. That's my favorite song from Midnights ( Thank you Aaron Dessner ) .

The song has Meronia vibes but its too epic for them lol . Maybe it could be from Mello's pov . Oh no maybe I should make smth 'The Great War' related for them . ( I can't promise anything whoops ) thx for everyone giving a smol swiftie attention

[theolivetree123]

Rev up your engines, it’s time to…

🏁 Race for the Cookie Cup! 🏁

(More below the cut)

🫐Event Summary🍒

You, Grim, Ace, and Deuce decide to visit a new arcade that recently opened up in the town not far from NRC. There, you meet up with Ruggie, Epel, Silver, and Idia, who have all taken interest in a specific game in the corner of the arcade. The game is called Sugar Rush! Since there's two arcade machines, Ace challenges Deuce to one round of the game, and whoever loses must pay for the other's lunch. Deuce unsurprisingly accepts, and they begin their match. Midway through their match, however, the game suddenly glitches! You and the gang all think the game is broken until a flash of light comes from the arcade machines. Next thing you know, all 8 of you are somehow inside of the racing game, Sugar Rush!

To escape this sweet nightmare, you must win the next grand prix and obtain the Cookie Cup! But, uh oh. Ace and Deuce are having a bit of a squabble. It seems like you guys are going to have to split into two separate teams!

For this grand prix, Deuce will be accompanied by Silver and Idia as...

Team Bluepuff!

And Ace will be accompanied by Ruggie and Epel as...

Team Redpop!

Which team will you choose?

🏁Rules🏁

Everyone is allowed to race! Whether it's your OCs, yuusonas, or, heck, even rope your favorite canon NRC/RSA student into this mess! Everyone is welcome to participate in the mess that Ace and Deuce started.

You can participate in this event by making custom cards, general fanart, fanfics, whatever! Just no NSFW, please. This is a PG racing game!

If you decide to make anything for this event, please tag me and use #🍪rftcc. I'd love to see what you make!

And finally, this event has no deadline, so feel free to participate whenever!

🏁Outfits and Carts🏁

Since you will be racing, make sure your outfit is fit for the job! Make sure your character has a jersey, gloves, and a sweet theme!

For your character's theme, make sure it is based off of some sort of candy or sweet treat! The character must also have a matching cart, as well (if you're drawing them with one, that is). Try to stay away from actual candy brands, though! We wouldn't want a lawsuit on our hands!

The characters listed in the summary have their own cards and outfits! I listed them below so you don't accidentally copy their theme.

SSR Deuce (Blueberry Pie)

SSR Ace (Cherry Pie)

SR Ruggie and Epel (Donuts and bubblegum)

SR/R Idia and Silver (Slushies and marshmallows)

Also! If you're making a card, you may use the blank cards below!

🏁Racers🏁

Team Bluepuff

🍋Yuya Florence by @cheerleaderman

🍪Dias Feathenfool by @beezonia

🍓Robyn Starling by @pinkskytwst

💝Reese Kingbit by @kickasscentral

🍋Flori Mohn-Prinz by @bunniehunn

Team Redpop

💍Ryuuni by @rini-rambles

🎂Narcissa Viperoné by @beezonia

🍍Saya Starling (ART) by @pinkskytwst made by @dilatory-replies

🧸Cerise Fanfare by @0kiwisalad0

🎄Humm by @xxoomiii

⚫️ Leon Lynch by @readsrandomstuff67

🏁Fanart🏁

A little comic from @mello-bee

Art of the crew by @spade-12

Ruggie doing donuts by @mirioho

Ruggie fanart by @cheshanoneko-draws

🏁Fanfics🏁

Bet on the Teleportation by @spadecentral

🏁I look forward to seeing what you create!🏁

[chuulyssa]

“ready for our date yet?”

“shut up,” you replied. “it’s only mcdonalds.”

“it’s a mcdonalds date!”

“no, it’s not. and i have to change,” you said, fully aware that when you bent over to find something to wear from your clothing rack, his eyes were on your curves, his jaw clenched, and his lips drawn into a little smirk.

DAZAI GOJO vanitas SANJI denji lmaoo ZENITSU miroku JEAN nikolai mello MATT eren TOJI

[vamphorica]

I know Mello wrote Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases after a conversation with L, but to my knowledge, we don't exactly know how this conversation was had. I somehow don't believe L would have visited the House just to talk to Mello, and somehow, even a phone call seems a little bit too extensive for someone like L to conduct for such a discussion. I imagine he and Mello sent several very long emails to one another, in which Mello flooded L with questions, and L answered them as succinctly as he was able. Mello would sit at the computer for hours, rewording his questions and deleting large paragraphs under the illusion that the detective had far better things to do than respond to him, especially given the tone of his responses.

What he didn't realise is that L would see these emails and always stop what he was doing to read them twice over, three times if necessary. He would tell Watari to reschedule any appointments he might have had and carefully word each sentence in a manner he thought would be as efficient as possible, so that this young successor of his wouldn't find the story tedious. He always found Mello's enthusiasm, all too clear in his queries, to be rather endearing, and for a brief time felt as though his work was interesting, as frustrating as it could often be.

The last email was sent by Mello, no longer interrogating L over the case as he felt his responses had been sufficient for him to begin writing his book. He had documented all that he needed to know, and had broken into a file cabinet in Roger's office to retrieve additional information about Beyond that either L would not have been aware of, or felt inappropriate to explain. Instead, he thanked L for his time and told him how hard he was working to be worthy of his position, eventually. He couldn't have been more grateful for the opportunity to follow in his footsteps.

L didn't reply, not out of lack of trying, but he could not bring himself to warn Mello of what his role really comprised of. That to be L was not an enviable title, and that he would only find pursuing such work disappointing and meaningless. As such, the email thread was concluded, and the next time Mello heard of his predecessor's condition, it was in Roger's office once it was confirmed that he had been killed by Kira.

[luvfy0dor]

Soft Touches 'Nd Stuff ♡⁠˖

Warnings; Suggestive, cursing in a/n, I still only write specifically for BSD, my friends suggested characters from other fandoms, so credit to them; @ilovechuuy4 and @yaeeko and others not on tumblr

Description; Sleepy morning affection ;3

Imagine laying in your bed with the sunrise visible through your window, dying the sky a pretty wash of pink, oranges and yellows all blended together. Your boyfriends arms are wrapped around your waist with his head burrowed in the crook of your neck and his chest rising and falling against your back. You mindlessly kept your eyes fixated on the rising sun while you waited for him to wake up, taking deep and steady breaths and basking in the peace and silence. Five minutes passed before you could feel his hand rub from your waist to your thigh and his breath on your neck, making you nearly shiver. "Mm.. goodmorning." He whispered, his voice scratchy from sleep. He momentarily rolled onto his back to stretch, kicking you while he stretched his legs and took on a starfish position. Once he felt physically refreshed, he curled right back up to you and kissed your cheek. "Goodmorning." You reply, reaching back to entangle your hand in his hair. "I had the funniest dream about you, last night.." he whispers with an audible grin, and his hands slide down your tummy to your abdomen. You let out a sigh, feeling his ticklish fingers against your skin. "Yeah? Was it really funny?" You ask, a little skeptical. He laughs under his breath and shakes his head. "Maybe not funny, but definitely fun." He leans forward to kiss along the back of your neck, his fingers hooking around the waist band of your pajama bottoms. "Can I show you what we did?" His voice sent more shivers down your spine, squirming in place and nodding. "Mhm.." you let his hands into your pants, feeling them start to touch you where others never had, and never would so long as he gets a say. His excitement was evident as you grinded your ass against his hips needily. "Perfect. When I'm done with you, you'll be glad I decided to tell you about it, sweetheart."

→ Dazai, Chuuya, Nikolai, Tachihara, I wrote this w/ Fyodor in mind but idrk, Belphie, Mello, Heizou, Kaeya, Tartaglia, Wriothsley, Alhaithem, Oikawa, Gojo, Jean, Gallagher, Blade, Boothill, Sampo, Aventurine, Argenti nd your favs!!

A/n; hey chat sorry for the disappearance!! I had to take the AP World History Exam today!! It wasn't terrible to be quite fair!!! (it wasn't a cold war leq like I desired) (what the fuck was that dbq) (I'm going to kill myself) (not seriously obviously)(update from August chat i got a 5 im so dramatic)

[starryeyedconstellations]

Mello could feel his face heating up. Maybe he wanted to go to the nurse, after all. Just to get out of this situation and cool off. "More like...someone who's always stealing my shit ruined my day. *Again*." As if his day didn't already begin on a sour note. If he'd been told once, he'd been told a hundred times: getting a maximum of three hours of sleep most nights never ended well. Unfortunately, it was hard to learn that lesson when everyone else was on the receiving end of the consequences. It was easier to blame Poppy for doing something that both annoyed him greatly and didn't matter in the grand scheme of things rather than take personal responsibility for his poor choices. "Invited, huh?" he repeated flatly, shooting an accusatory glance at Matt. "Are you guys trying your best to piss me off?" "I actually thought, maybe, having someone who isn't me around would encourage you to do something less self-destructive. Or generally destructive." Matt stepped forward and grabbed his Gameboy from the grass. He switched it on as he continued to talk, seeming more comfortable now that he had an excuse not to look directly at anyone. "But, you just couldn't resist." "If you're implying I started it - " "I'm only implying that we can never go two whole days without a 'Mello Incident'," Matt interrupted. He wouldn't say it bothered him that Mello didn't play well with others, but it was always obvious it did. Mello scoffed. "Whatever. I'll pretend you didn't say that." He turned to Poppy again, arms crossed and face just barely tinged with red. "Well, I hope you didn't just come here hoping to steal my chocolate. I kind of...need you to do something for me." Matt grinned. He knew Mello too well. That was why he had to invite Poppy to hang out with them.

Poppy rolled her eyes. "Sure." Only Matt plops himself down on the grass beside her, she moves closer to take a peak at the game he was currently playing. "What level are you on now?" She quietly listens to the light banter, green orbs locked onto the screen, watching it's movements. She may not look it, but she enjoyed video games as well. That's how her and Matt became friends in the first place. The ginger haired girl only looks up at the blonde when he finally addresses her again. Neutral expression soon shifting to one of genuine surprise at his words. "You... need my help?" She would say slowly, briefly glancing at the red-haired beside her to see if Mello was joking. "Okay... what do you need me for?" She wearily asks.

Starter for @predictabletragedy

Wammy’s house was its usual busybody. Halls clustered, childern chattering, books and papers in hands or bags.

Poppy was much the same, the lastest addition of book her level had been called to evaluate stuffed into the stickered, dark blue bag that bumped against her legs with each step she took.

She had already read through ten of the captures, and possibly would have still been doing so if Matt hadn’t slipped her a note that said the he was ditching his last class of the day if she wanted to hang out- along with Mello.

Of course he pulled the redhead along into his scheming. Still. It was better than being couped up in her room all day. The sun was bright and shiny, the perfect time to go outside.

Her laced black shoes clattered against the well titled steps, making her way towards the big tree that say on the hill with the big tree, a small wooden swing tied to a big branch.

There were signs of the two, Matt’s gameboy on the ground, along with a few books. Mello must of dragged him off to be a jerk. Green eyes lightly rolled at the thought. Though, a flash of sliver catches her eyes. Seeing that the blonde had left his oh so precious chocolate.

A cat like, mischievous smile cames across her face she she quickly glances around. Before picking it up and biting a piece off of it. As delicious as ever. Though perhaps stolen sweets always are.

[theforgottenmcrmy]

For the Love of Candied Lemons (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: absolutely none, this is purely fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Summary: Princess Rhaenyra's latest craving results in a rather embarrassing incident for you, and a frightening one for Harwin.

A/N: I most fucking embarrassingly am a citizen of the “democracy” that is the US. I hope you can find some enjoyment in this product of my coping, however small. I put enough context in here that you hopefully don’t need to have read it, but this is a one shot idea from a larger story of mine called Growing Strong, the master list of which can be found HERE.

“Seven hells- Princess Rhaenyra’s message said I would find you here.”

Feeling slightly betrayed, but mostly embarrassed, you let out a frustrated huff. “I did not mean for her to send for you.”

“I have no doubt that the Princess’s intent was genuine. She only wants to ensure that you are well,” Harwin placated soothingly. He took another slow step in your direction, glancing about your shared chambers with a look of mild interest as he did so. “Though I am curious as to why you were brought here. Wouldn’t the Maester’s chambers have been more sufficient?”

“Grand Maester Mellos was a rather unfortunate witness to the … incident,” you replied carefully. “He rushed to assist me at once, and our chambers were far closer than his office.”

The maester in question, who had been gathering up the last of his supplies, hummed thoughtfully to himself. Sparing you a small smile, he chimed in, “All things considered, Lady Tyrell, the injuries you sustained could have been far, far worse.”

“But?” you prodded with a smile of your own, not bothering to hide the hopefulness in your tone.

“But, apply this salve a few times a day, ensure the cuts are kept clean, and all shall heal just fine.”

“Thank you, Maester,” Harwin thanked him sincerely. Sneaking in a teasing glance your way, your husband added, “I shall personally ensure that the Lady Tyrell heeds your advice faithfully.”

Grand Maester Mellos bobbed his head in silent acknowledgement, before rising to his feet and leaving the room. As soon as the door your shared chambers closed, Harwin was upon you at once.

“Let me see,” he pleaded, though you knew it was not a demand, but rather a request for your permission. Whenever it came to you, Harwin never acted without it.

You begrudgingly met his inquisitive gaze, and allowed yourself to be subject to his thorough scrutinization of your current state. His careful hand slowly rose alongside your face, and you allowed your head to tilt backward with his gentle guiding, giving him full visibility of the multitude of scrapes that now marred your chin.

After a moment, Harwin dropped his hand, and turned his attention to yours. You presented your palms openly towards him, allowing him to pour his eyes over the additional cuts that littered the otherwise smooth skin. 

Your husband slowly traced one of the more visibly angry gashes, and you flinched involuntarily.

Harwin immediately offered a hushed apology. “What happened, My Love?”

You broke away from his loving gaze, looking down at your palms with shame. “It’s all rather embarrassing… And the truth of it is, I’m still not precisely sure what happened.”

Harwin reached for your hands once more, mindfully grasping at the uninjured sides of them. As you allowed yourself to take some comfort from the gesture, he suggested, “Perhaps it is best you start at the beginning, then?”

“Your sisters and I were strolling the gardens with Princess Rhaenyra,” you recalled. “Suddenly, she wished for some candied lemons.”

Harwin’s expression shifted from one of curiosity to sudden understanding.

As a lady in waiting for Princess Rhaenyra, who had recently discovered herself to be with her first child, you had been adamant in seeing to her every need and whim. While it would have been expected of you, given your official position, Harwin knew that you had placed additional pressure upon yourself to see that Princess Rhaenyra was well looked after. Though your time in King’s Landing had been short in comparison to others, in that time you had quickly developed a genuine kinship with and affection for Rhaenyra, sentiments that Harwin believed were reciprocated.

“The kitchens are so far away from the gardens, as you know,” you continued to explain. “By the time we would have sent word, and then waited for the candies to be prepared… I thought it would have been futile. I volunteered to go to the kitchens myself.”

“And so you did.”

“And so I did,” you confirmed, forcing yourself to meet his eyes once more. “I was on my way from the kitchens, headed back to the gardens. And as I was descending the stairs outside of the Small Council Chambers, I could not see my feet. I think my skirts may have gotten twisted perhaps, and…”

“...And?”

“Before I knew it, my feet were above my head, candied lemons went flying through the air, and I went tumbling down the stairs.”

Despite the situation, you could have sworn the corners of Harwin’s pursed lips flinched upwards.

“I managed to break my fall on the very bottom step with my hands, but not before my chin got a good go of it. Grand Maester Mellos saw everything, naturally. The Seven weren’t so kind as to spare me an audience for this grand mishap. He whisked me away at once to see to these cuts… And, now that things have calmed and some clarity has returned, I believe he also sent a page to inform Princess Rhaenyra of what had transpired. Given your presence now, I assume she in turn sent for you.” You paused briefly, feeling embarrassment overcome you once more. “I still cannot believe you rushed all the way back to the Red Keep from Flea Bottom solely on my account.”

Harwin’s patrols as a Gold Cloak of the City Watch kept him busier more often than not. You had never faulted him for it; copious amounts of your own time was spent carrying out your duties to Princess Rhaenyra.

“Judging by the ominous look on the messenger boy’s face, I did not feel as though I had much of a choice.” Your husband sighed tiredly, his eyes flickering over your various abrasions once more.

Suddenly, he placed a quick, firm kiss on your cheek. You felt them grow hot once more, although this time it was not with embarrassment.

“It pains me to see you injured, even in these small ways,” Harwin confessed. “Though I cannot deny that it brings me great relief to see that these cuts are all you have to show for a ‘tumble down the stairs’... It did not take great effort on my part to imagine the worst.”

You reached for his hands then, ignoring the stinging sensations in them that rapidly followed. “Truly, I shall be quite alright, Dearest. The only thing that was gravely injured today was my pride. A lady of House Tyrell, tripping and bumbling down a staircase like a waddling child? … Gods, I hope my brother never hears of this. He will not let me live this down.”

Harwin rolled his eyes, but the gesture was without annoyance or malice. “Between jousting and tournaments or simply training out in the yard, I am certain Lord Tyrell has taken more than a few falls of his own. An accident was all that this was, My Love. And an accident is certainly nothing to be ashamed of.”

You blushed. “You are kind- too kind, perhaps. While I appreciate your concern, I truly did not wish for you to permanently abandon your post for the day. I will not keep you to myself; go on and return to the city. I shall see you later tonight.”

Harwin scoffed. “Surely you jest. The Commander gave me leave to see to it that you are well. It seems only fair that I should ensure your wellness continues for the duration of the day.”

You smiled. “You wish to spend the day with me?”

Between Harwin’s patrols with the City Watch, and your own duties to Princess Rhaenyra, the opportunity to spend any significant time with one another during the day was seldom found.

You shook your head, attempting to quell your rising hopes. “As much as I love the thought, Dearest, I did promise Princess Rhaenyra those candied lemons…”

“I would not keep you from your duties, either.” Harwin held out a hand to you, standing fast; he was not going anywhere. “Mayhaps you will allow me to accompany my Lady Wife to retrieve more candied lemons from the kitchens?” 

Grinning, you took his hand. As you carefully rose to your feet, you offered him a teasing smile. “How could I ever refuse such a generous and noble offer?”

Harwin winked. “I was hoping you’d be agreeable to it.”

“And why is that, Dearest?”

You intertwined your arm with his, daintily resting your scraped hand on the crook of his elbow. As you leaned into him, and rested your head on his upper arm, Harwin gently turned and began to lead the two of you over to the door. The pace was leisurely, the moment calm and intimate. The realm existed outside the closed chamber door, but for now, the world was comprised entirely of just the two of you.

As Harwin reached for the door handle, he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Lemon candies are replaceable. But you, My Love, are not.”

[novaursa]

Between Pride and Fire (matters of the realm)

- Summary: It was a challenge of the hunt that drew the lion to you, but it was your fire that made him yours.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Jason Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: royals

- Next part: lion's den

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @punk-in-docs @barnes70stark

From The Testimony of Mushroom, corroborated by Grand Maester Mellos in The Histories of the Dragon’s Heirs

The aftermath of the ill-fated wedding of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon left scars that stretched far beyond the stone walls of the Red Keep. What was meant to be a celebration of unity between House Targaryen and Velaryon descended into a night of blood and horror, and the ripples of that chaos were felt throughout the realm. Though the Septon’s final words bound Rhaenyra and Laenor in marriage, no feast nor dance could wash away the stain of Ser Criston Cole’s brutal slaying of Ser Joffrey Lonmouth.

The following morning brought a hush over King’s Landing. Gone were the sounds of trumpets and revelry, replaced instead by whispered rumors that passed like fire through dry grass. Lords muttered behind closed doors, and the smallfolk spun tales of what had occurred within the Red Keep’s great hall. Some claimed it was jealousy that drove Criston Cole into such madness. Others whispered of darker schemes—of secrets unveiled and grudges laid bare. What all could agree on, however, was that nothing would ever be the same again.

Amidst the wreckage of this chaos, Lord Jason Lannister and his Targaryen wife, Princess Y/N, emerged as figures of enviable stability. Where the royal family seemed fractured and fragile, the golden lions of the West stood tall and untouchable, their crimson cloaks as vivid as blood amongst the rubble.

In truth, it is said that Jason Lannister handled the scandalous events of the wedding with the same smug aplomb that defined him. Grand Maester Mellos noted in his letters that Jason “laughed when others wept, as if the bloodshed were no more troubling than spilled wine.” Mushroom, however, provides a far more colorful description, claiming that Jason whispered to his wife as they departed the chaos of the great hall: “This was a wedding for the histories, my dragon—though I do think our lion slaying made for better sport.”

The princess, by contrast, was said to have been troubled. Mushroom claims she remained quiet and pale throughout the night, tending to her twins, Leona and Loren, in the privacy of their chambers while Jason drank deeply and regaled his kin with tales of the absurdity he had witnessed. “My lady soothed babes while her lion roared,” Mushroom writes, “and so it is with all marriages—a woman tends to what matters while a man tends to his pride.”

Yet while others looked upon the aftermath with despair, the Lannisters only seemed to shine brighter. In the days following the wedding, it was Jason and Y/N who took to the streets of King’s Landing to present themselves—her silver hair and his golden crown of curls appearing like twin beams of light amidst the gloom. The smallfolk cheered for them as though they were the ones newly wed, and they cooed over the twins, Leona and Loren, as if the babes themselves were proof that unity could still exist in the realm.

“The king’s first grandchildren,” Jason boasted loudly in the marketplace, clutching a goblet of wine as he stood before the people. Mushroom claims that Y/N chastised her husband for flaunting the twins so openly, fearing what enemies such displays might invite. “They are children, Jason, not trophies,” she is said to have told him. Yet Jason only grinned and replied, “All Lannisters are trophies, wife. Even the cubs.”

It was in this way that Lord Jason and Princess Y/N presented an image of strength when others faltered. While King Viserys withdrew further into his chambers—his health seeming to wane with each passing day—and Queen Alicent surrounded herself with her father’s allies, the Lannisters stood as a spectacle of gold and crimson, untarnished by scandal.

Mushroom, of course, cannot resist adding his usual crudeness to their story. He claims that Jason’s cheer during the day was matched only by his ardor at night. “The Rock’s lion roared as loudly in bed as he did in the streets,” Mushroom writes salaciously, “and if the princess protested, no soul ever heard it. One might think that bloodshed stirred the man’s appetites, for it is said that Jason and his dragon wife scarce left their chambers save to parade the babes like kings at a tourney.”

Whether or not such claims hold any truth is impossible to say, for Mushroom’s accounts are ever prone to exaggeration. Grand Maester Mellos writes only that the princess “remained attentive to her children and dutiful to her husband, keeping her composure where many others faltered.” Yet even he could not deny the sharp contrast between the turmoil within the Red Keep and the Lannisters’ public display of unity.

It is worth noting, too, that the princess did not forget her sister. Rhaenyra, secluded with Laenor in the wake of the tragedy, is said to have received a quiet visit from Y/N in the days following the wedding. No records remain of their conversation, but Mushroom insists he overheard whispers through the keyhole, where Y/N reassured Rhaenyra that “the world may tear at you, but you will endure.”

Jason, meanwhile, paid little mind to such solemn affairs. Mushroom claims that when questioned about the wedding’s bloodshed, Jason merely laughed and said, “The realm would be dull without a bit of chaos. A Lannister thrives in it.”

And so it was that while King Viserys aged before the eyes of the court, and while Rhaenyra and Laenor retreated into their uneasy marriage, Lord Jason Lannister and Princess Y/N stood like a beacon amidst the gathering storm. Mushroom, ever the cynic, described it best: “When the world shakes and dragons roar, the lions stand tall—but make no mistake, my lords, even lions cannot see when the ground is crumbling beneath their paws.”

For now, though, the realm looked upon Jason and Y/N as a shining example—a marriage of fire and gold that burned brighter in the shadows cast by others’ failings. The twins, Leona and Loren, were called “the hope of the Rock” by the smallfolk of the Westerlands, and wherever the Lannisters walked, the world watched.

Yet even as their star rose, the events of Rhaenyra’s wedding left a scar upon the realm—a scar that would fester in the years to come. And while Jason laughed and Y/N stood strong, the first cracks in the foundation had already begun to form.

King Viserys sat slouched in a cushioned chair at the head of a large table, his crown tilted slightly askew as though it weighed far too much. The king looked every bit as weary as he had in the days following Rhaenyra's wedding, though his smile remained warm and genuine as he listened to Laenor Velaryon recount some jest or tale of his youth.

Jason Lannister reclined comfortably in his chair, legs stretched out, a goblet of wine lazily balanced in one hand. He had been summoned to join the king this morning, alongside Ser Laenor, for reasons that were as yet unclear. Jason, of course, never missed an opportunity to enjoy royal company—or to make his presence felt.

Leaning back, Jason smirked at Laenor as the young Velaryon finished his story, his laughter ringing easily through the otherwise quiet chamber. “So let me see if I’ve heard this correctly,” Jason said, his voice dripping with amusement. “You dove headfirst into the harbor after your brother dared you… and were fished out naked before half the ships of Driftmark?”

Laenor grinned, his silver hair catching the sunlight as he shrugged. “What can I say, Lord Jason? I was young and bold, and the water seemed warm enough at the time.”

Viserys barked a laugh, clapping his hand against the armrest of his chair, though the effort seemed to take more energy than it once might have. “Ah, youth,” he said fondly, shaking his head. “If only we could live those days again.”

Jason chuckled softly, raising his goblet toward Laenor. “You’ve spirit, Velaryon. That much, I can respect.”

Across the room, Otto Hightower stood like a shadow, his hands clasped neatly at his waist, though his sharp eyes never stopped watching. His presence was like a cold draft in the otherwise warm chamber, lingering silently but impossible to ignore. His gaze flitted toward Jason every now and again—side glances sharp as a dagger—as though measuring every word that fell from the Lord of Casterly Rock’s mouth.

Jason, for his part, paid him no mind. Or rather, he pretended not to notice.

After a lull in conversation, Otto stepped forward slightly, clearing his throat with deliberate softness. “Your Grace,” he said, though his eyes lingered on Jason, “the matters of the realm wait for no man—even those of noble station.”

Viserys waved a hand, though it lacked its usual vigor. “What matters, Otto? Let us have peace in this room for once. There are no councils here today.”

Otto smiled faintly, though it did not reach his eyes. “Of course, Your Grace.” He turned his gaze fully to Jason now, his tone clipped and polite. “Lord Jason, it is a pleasure to see you still in our halls. Though I must admit… it has been nearly a week since the wedding festivities came to an end. I imagine your people in the Westerlands must miss you greatly by now.”

Jason did not so much as blink, though his smirk sharpened like a blade’s edge as he tilted his goblet, swirling the wine idly. “How kind of you to concern yourself with my duties, Lord Hand,” he said, his tone almost lazy. “But my bannermen are capable. I trust my family is managing affairs in my absence without issue.”

Otto’s smile remained fixed, though his fingers tightened slightly where they rested at his waist. “And yet,” he continued, voice smooth as silk, “I would not wish to keep the Lord of Casterly Rock from the lands he serves so dutifully. Surely your family will be eager to return to the Westerlands soon?”

Jason glanced at Otto from the corner of his eye, the glint of amusement never leaving his face. “In time,” he replied smoothly, sipping his wine. “The king has graciously offered us his hospitality, and it would be rude to leave too soon, don’t you think?”

Viserys, oblivious to the subtle tension in the air, let out a faint chuckle. “Jason is right, Otto. Let them stay a while longer. It’s not every day I have the pleasure of my grandchildren’s company.”

Jason smiled broadly at that, clearly pleased to hear Viserys mention the twins. “Aye, Your Grace. It warms my heart to know the king takes such joy in their presence. Leona and Loren have grown fond of their grandsire already.”

Otto’s expression flickered ever so slightly at the mention of the twins. “Yes, no doubt,” he murmured, though his tone was laced with something unreadable.

Laenor, who had remained quiet throughout this exchange, cleared his throat with a small grin. “Lord Jason, I suspect you’ll find it hard to leave the capital if King Viserys has his way. The man seems to adore your children almost as much as you do.”

Jason turned toward Laenor, his easy grin returning as he raised his goblet. “Who could blame him? The twins are the pride of the West.” He turned back to Otto with a faintly pointed look. “You might even say they shine brighter than gold.”

The jab was subtle, but Otto caught it. His expression remained neutral, though his gaze lingered on Jason for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Gold fades, my lord,” Otto replied softly. “But the realm endures.”

Jason laughed, though there was little warmth in it. “Wise words, Lord Hand. I’ll be sure to remember them.”

Viserys, sensing none of the tension now thickening in the room, exhaled heavily and leaned back into his chair. “Enough of this talk. Otto, there will be time for matters of duty later. Let us enjoy what peace we can.”

Otto inclined his head, though he cast one final glance at Jason before stepping back into the shadows. Jason, ever unbothered, leaned closer to you as the king settled into a half-doze, murmuring softly near your ear.

“Do you see how he watches me, wife? Like a cat watching a mouse that refuses to scurry.”

You offered him a sidelong look, keeping your voice low. “And what does that make you, my lord?”

Jason grinned, his confidence unshaken. “The mouse who knows the cat can’t catch him.”

You shook your head faintly, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Perhaps you should not push him so.”

Jason shrugged, leaning back in his chair with that infuriating air of ease. “Otto Hightower cannot push me from King’s Landing any sooner than I wish to leave it. Besides,” he added, casting a glance toward the king, “I’ll take my leave when it suits me—and when the king tires of spoiling my children.”

“Let us hope that day comes quietly,” you murmured, though even you could sense that the quiet days were already beginning to dwindle.

Jason only smirked, lifting his goblet to his lips once more, as though the game he played was his alone to win.

The city of King's Landing hummed with life beneath the early afternoon sun, its sprawling streets teeming with vendors hawking their wares, children darting between carts, and common folk bustling about their daily routines. The smells of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fresh bread mingled in the air with less savory scents—a testament to the chaotic beauty of the capital. Today, however, the market had something far grander to behold.

Jason Lannister strode through the heart of the city like a king on progress, flanked by his retinue. His cloak swirled behind him with every step, and his pride shone brighter than any coin in the city. At his side walked you, composed and regal. The twins, Leona and Loren, were nestled securely in your arms and the arms of a trusted wet nurse, swaddled in soft crimson silks embroidered with golden lions and dragons.

A royal escort preceded you, knights of the City Watch with their gleaming golden cloaks clearing a path through the crowd while banners of House Targaryen and House Lannister fluttered proudly overhead. Behind you, Jason’s Lannister men and retainers marched in formation, their polished armor catching the sun and dazzling the gawking crowd. What began as an ordinary market day had now become a spectacle—and Jason, ever the lion, relished it.

“Lord Jason Lannister! Princess Y/N!” came the cries from vendors and citizens alike as you passed. A ripple of excitement spread through the market as more people pushed forward, eager for a glimpse of the king’s first grandchildren.

Jason, of course, was all smiles, nodding graciously to the crowd and pausing now and then to lift his hand in greeting. “Good folk of King’s Landing!” he called at one point, his voice carrying like a man born to be heard. “The pride of the West greets you! A fine day, is it not?”

You shot him a look, though amusement tugged at your lips. “Must you parade us so boldly?” you murmured, adjusting the swaddled babe in your arms. Leona, bright-eyed even in her infancy, squirmed softly against you.

“Of course,” Jason replied smoothly, glancing sidelong at you with a grin. “How else will they know that Lannisters walk among them? Besides,” he added, gesturing toward the crowd, “they should see the king’s first grandchildren—let them remember this day.”

“And when they curse us for blocking their stalls?” you teased lightly, though you could not deny the awe on the faces of the smallfolk as they caught sight of the twins. Women gasped and cooed, children shrieked in delight, and men whispered to one another as they craned their necks for a better view.

“If they curse us, it’ll be through tears of joy,” Jason replied with a wink.

The market sprawled open before you, the crowd parting wherever the gold-cloaked guards marched. Jason paused at a particularly loud stall, where a vendor was shouting about the finest Dornish silk. The merchant, an older man with a grizzled beard, nearly dropped his bolts of fabric when Jason stopped before him.

“Silk from Dorne, you say?” Jason asked with mock scrutiny, his grin lazy. “And what makes it finer than the silks worn by my lady wife?”

The merchant blinked rapidly, his mouth hanging open before he stammered, “I-It’s the finest, m’lord—truly! Soft as the morning mist and strong as dragon’s wings!”

Jason glanced back at you with a smug grin. “Shall we compare, wife?” he teased, though his voice carried enough weight to send the merchant into a sputtering fit.

You rolled your eyes, shifting Leona in your arms as the wet nurse beside you held Loren securely. “Lord Jason, if you mean to torment every vendor in the market, we’ll be here till sundown.”

“Perhaps I’m a generous man, parading my coin,” Jason replied with a wink, though he tossed the merchant a gold dragon for his trouble before strolling on, shoulders back and chin high.

The procession wound its way through stalls of fruit, fish, and fine jewelry, with Jason greeting strangers like long-lost friends and showing no signs of humility. Children gawked as the twins passed, their small faces pressed to the edges of the crowd. A small girl, no older than six, tugged at her mother’s skirts and pointed.

“Is it true?” she whispered loudly. “Are they dragons?”

Jason heard and turned, crouching low enough to address the girl directly, his green eyes gleaming with mischief. “Dragons and lions both, little one,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “Fire and gold, brought together.”

The girl’s eyes widened as she clutched her mother’s hand tightly. “They’re magic,” she breathed.

Jason straightened, glancing toward you with a faint smirk. “Did you hear that, wife? Magic. I knew it.”

“Enough of your games, Jason,” you murmured, though you could not suppress the faint smile on your lips. The twins were beginning to fuss now, little Loren letting out a high-pitched wail that cut through the air. The wet nurse bobbed him gently, but Jason was undeterred.

“Ah, the boy has lungs,” Jason said proudly, as though Loren’s cries were a testament to Lannister strength. “A roar, like his father.”

“And if you don’t let them rest soon,” you replied pointedly, “they’ll roar loud enough to scatter this entire market.”

Jason gave you a good-natured grin before turning to his men. “We’ll head back to the keep,” he announced, waving a hand lazily. “But not before they know they’ve seen the future of the realm.”

As the procession wound its way back toward the gates of the Red Keep, the streets of King’s Landing seemed to buzz with renewed life. Jason Lannister’s “spectacle,” as you had called it, had done its job. The people stared in awe, whispered about the silver-haired babes who would grow to inherit power, and cheered as you passed.

Jason, of course, was entirely unbothered by the extravagance of it all. He slowed his steps as you reached the shadow of the keep, casting a look at you, smug and satisfied. “There,” he said softly, gesturing toward the lingering crowd still watching your departure. “The first of many days when our children will be remembered.”

You shook your head faintly, though your voice held none of the fire your words implied. “You’ll make them into legend before they can even walk.”

Jason laughed softly, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of silver hair behind your ear. “Why not? Let them shine, wife. They are Lannisters and Targaryens both—and worth every cheer.”

As the gates closed behind you and the streets faded into distant hums of noise, you sighed softly, looking down at Leona as she stirred in your arms. “Just try not to make a habit of turning every outing into a parade.”

Jason smirked, his hand brushing yours as you walked. “No promises.”

The sun hung low in the sky, bathing the Red Keep’s sprawling courtyards in its light as the day waned. In the quieter corner of the gardens, two figures stood near a marble bench beneath the shade of an old elm. Jason Lannister, ever confident, leaned lazily against the tree’s trunk, a small goblet dangling loosely from his fingers. His younger twin, Tyland Lannister, stood rigid as ever, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his sharp green eyes scanning the courtyard with watchful intent.

The soft rustle of leaves filled the silence, punctuated only by the distant calls of servants tending the grounds and the faint hum of the city beyond the walls. For once, Jason seemed content to remain quiet, taking a slow sip from his cup as Tyland studied him with a frown.

“You’re too comfortable here,” Tyland said finally, his voice low but firm, cutting through the late afternoon stillness.

Jason glanced at him sidelong, lifting a brow. “And why shouldn’t I be? The king himself welcomed us. The court admires us, my children are the first of Viserys’s grandchildren—tell me, brother, where is the harm in that?”

Tyland exhaled softly through his nose, as though he’d expected Jason’s reply. “Because not everyone admires us, Jason. Some see your pride as a threat, and you do little to dissuade them.”

Jason smirked, pushing himself off the tree trunk to stand straight. “The Hightowers, you mean,” he said, his voice edged with amusement. “Don’t tell me you’ve come all this way to warn me of Otto Hightower. The man’s shadow might loom over the king, but I’m hardly frightened of it.”

“You should be,” Tyland shot back sharply, his tone laced with frustration. He stepped closer, his boots crunching faintly over the gravel. “Otto is not blind to your games, Jason. Nor is Alicent. You parade your wife and children through the city as if you were already king’s heir. You act as though you have nothing to lose, and that arrogance will make you enemies.”

Jason tilted his head slightly, studying his brother with a flicker of curiosity. “And since when have you been so cautious, Tyland? It’s unlike you to sound so… measured.”

Tyland’s jaw tightened, though he kept his composure. “I am cautious because someone in this family needs to be. I’ve seen the way Otto Hightower watches you—and your wife. The man is no fool. He knows the king favors the princess, but that favor extends to you now, too, by marriage and blood. The twins, Jason.” Tyland’s voice dropped lower, as though he feared the words might carry. “They are Targaryen by their mother, but to the Hightowers, they are lions sitting too close to the throne.”

Jason let out a short, dismissive laugh, though the sound held little mirth. “Lions are always close to thrones, brother. That is where we belong.”

“Not in King’s Landing,” Tyland snapped, his patience fraying. “Not here, not now. The Hightowers are careful, deliberate, and they will see every golden thread in this keep as a noose around their necks.”

Jason’s smirk faded just slightly, though he masked it with another sip of wine. “You worry too much, Tyland. Otto can scheme all he likes, but Viserys is no fool. The man loves his daughter, and by extension, he loves me and our family. Us. Do you truly think the Hightowers can undo that with mere whispers?”

Tyland’s expression hardened, his sharp features shadowed by the waning light. “Whispers are all it takes when the right ears hear them. Alicent and her brood will not sit idle while you charm the court into loving you. Mark me, brother—when the queen smiles at you, it is not kindness. It is a measuring look.”

Jason fell silent at that, his gaze narrowing slightly as he studied Tyland. The truth of the words sank in, though he would never admit it aloud. “And what would you have me do?” Jason asked finally, his voice softer now, though his pride still lingered. “Pack my family off to Casterly Rock with our tails between our legs? Run, so Otto Hightower can preen in victory?”

“I would have you be smart, Jason,” Tyland replied firmly. “This is not Casterly Rock. Here, lions are not kings—they are guests. Tread carefully. Do not give the Hightowers reason to fear you more than they already do.”

Jason glanced away briefly, his gaze sweeping across the quiet garden as he weighed his brother’s words. He loathed the idea of playing meek, of hiding the strength he so openly wore, but he could not deny the truth in Tyland’s warning. The Red Keep was no place for complacency, not with so many eyes watching.

Finally, Jason turned back to Tyland with a faint sigh, though his smirk returned—smaller this time, quieter. “Fine. I’ll play the part of a humble lord if it will ease your mind. I’ll even refrain from parading my children through the streets like trophies.”

Tyland arched a brow, unimpressed. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Jason chuckled softly, clapping a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he passed him, his voice light despite the lingering tension. “Come now, Tyland. Where’s your faith in me?”

“I have faith,” Tyland replied dryly, watching him go. “Just not in your restraint.”

As Jason strolled back toward the keep, his confident stride unbroken, Tyland lingered beneath the elm tree, his expression clouded with thought. He had spoken his warning, but whether Jason would heed it—or whether it was already too late—remained to be seen. The game was changing in the Red Keep, and as ever, the lions of the West walked a fine line between power and peril.

The faint sounds of the Red Keep—servants bustling in distant halls, the distant clang of swords from the training yard—faded as Jason entered in your shared chambers, shutting the heavy door behind him with a muted thud.

You sat curled on the chaise near the hearth, a book resting lightly in your lap, though you didn’t appear to be reading it. The soft glow of the fire illuminated your silver hair and the delicate lines of your face, though there was an unmistakable weariness to your features—a weariness that Jason caught immediately.

“Brooding again, wife?” Jason’s voice broke the quiet, his tone light as ever, though he studied you carefully as he stepped deeper into the room. He shrugged off his crimson cloak, letting it pool on the bench near the door before he approached you.

You looked up at him, arching an eyebrow with faint amusement. “I think brooding is your word for thinking, Jason.”

“Perhaps,” Jason admitted, dropping heavily into the armchair across from you with a dramatic sigh. “But I find thinking far less productive than brooding. Brooding invites company. Thinking only invites headaches.”

You smirked faintly, though you said nothing as you marked your page and set the book aside. Jason stretched out his long legs, his boots scuffing against the edge of the hearth. For a long moment, the two of you sat in a companionable silence, the fire crackling softly between you.

At last, Jason spoke again, his tone quieter this time. “And how did you spend your afternoon, my dragon?”

You shifted slightly, smoothing your skirts as you regarded him. “With Rhaenyra,” you said simply. “She needed company, I think. This place weighs on her.”

Jason hummed faintly, his expression unreadable. “I imagine it does,” he said after a moment. “There’s no peace here—not for her, and certainly not for us.”

You tilted your head slightly, catching the edge in his voice. “What did Tyland say to you?”

Jason’s gaze flicked to yours, though his smirk returned almost immediately. “What makes you think he said anything?”

“Because I know you,” you replied, your voice calm but certain. “And Tyland always looks like he’s swallowed a lemon when he’s giving you advice.”

Jason laughed softly at that, leaning his head back against the chair as his smirk widened. “You know me too well, wife. Tyland, ever the solemn twin, has warned me of Otto Hightower’s lingering stares. Apparently, we are a threat.”

You frowned, your brow creasing slightly. “A threat?”

Jason waved a hand dismissively, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t let it trouble you. The Hand has seen a golden lion where there is only a loyal son-in-law and devoted husband.”

You gave him a pointed look, though you didn’t press him further. “You should listen to Tyland, Jason. The Hightowers are dangerous, and Otto plays his games well.”

Jason let out a mock groan, as though exhausted by the topic already. “Enough of the Hightowers. I’ve no interest in talking about dour old men when I have my lovely wife before me.” He pushed himself up from the chair, crossing the room with that familiar easy grace.

You watched him warily as he approached, his green eyes glinting with mischief, though you couldn’t entirely suppress the smile threatening to form. “What are you doing?”

Jason crouched before you, resting his hands lightly on your knees, his expression deceptively innocent. “Admiring you, of course. Can a man not look upon his wife and marvel at his good fortune?”

You arched an eyebrow, though you felt the heat rise faintly in your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you married me,” Jason quipped smoothly, his grin widening. His hands slid slowly up your thighs, his touch deliberate and teasing as he leaned closer. “Are you regretting it now?”

You shot him a look, though your voice held no real bite. “Not yet. But you’re testing me.”

Jason chuckled, the sound low and warm as he brushed his lips against your knuckles. “Testing you? No, my dragon. I’m simply reminding you of how much you adore me.”

You scoffed lightly, though your breath hitched as his hand trailed further, fingers curling just slightly around your waist. “Always an arrogant ass,” you murmured, though your voice softened.

Jason’s smirk turned roguish as he leaned in, his mouth hovering just above yours. “And yet, you can’t resist me,” he whispered. “Admit it.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, Jason closed the space between you, his lips claiming yours in a kiss that stole whatever argument you might have made. He kissed you slowly, deliberately, as though savoring every second. His hands found your waist, tugging you closer until you were pulled against him, your book and thoughts forgotten entirely.

When he pulled back, just slightly, he grinned down at you, his face far too pleased with itself. “See? You’ve no defense against me.”

You exhaled, your heart pounding despite yourself. “You are being ridiculous, Jason.”

“Ridiculous and charming,” he corrected, leaning in to brush his lips against your jawline, his voice soft and teasing. “The perfect combination.”

You shivered slightly as his lips trailed along your neck, his hands sliding up to tangle in the silk of your gown. “And too arrogant for your own good,” you repeated, though the words came out breathless.

“And yet here you are,” Jason murmured, his voice a low rumble against your skin. “Married to me, alone with me, and very soon, in bed with me.”

You let out a quiet laugh despite yourself, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic as you allowed yourself to lean into his touch. “You shameless man.”

“I am. Completely,” Jason agreed, pulling you to your feet with one fluid motion. His hands lingered at your waist as he turned you, his breath warm against your ear. “And if I recall, you love that about me.”

Before you could argue, Jason spun you toward the bed, his hands finding the ties at the back of your gown. He tugged gently, loosening the silk as he pressed another kiss to your shoulder. “Let me spoil you tonight, wife,” he whispered. “Let me remind you that we are far from those shadows and games.”

You turned your head slightly, looking at him over your shoulder, your expression softening as you finally let out a sigh. “Fine, my lord. But only if you promise me you’ll behave tomorrow.”

Jason laughed quietly, his grin wicked as he leaned in, pressing his lips to your bare shoulder. “No promises, my fierce dragon.”

As Jason’s deft fingers worked the ties of your gown, the silk slid from your shoulders in a whisper, pooling in a soft heap at your feet. The cool air of the chamber kissed your bare skin, raising a shiver along your spine, though it was quickly replaced by the heat of Jason’s hands. He traced slow, deliberate lines down your back, his touch reverent and maddening all at once.

“You’ve missed this,” Jason murmured against your neck, his breath hot as his lips brushed just beneath your ear. His hands found your waist, pulling you back flush against him, and you could feel the strength of his body pressed against yours. “Don’t deny it.”

You turned in his arms, your bare skin catching the glow of the firelight as you faced him. “And if I said I hadn’t missed it?” you teased, your voice soft but edged with challenge.

Jason’s green eyes gleamed with that infuriating confidence as his hands slid lower, curling possessively over your hips. “Then I’d call you a liar,” he replied, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “Because I’ve missed you, my dragon. More than I can bear.”

The admission, so soft and unexpected, sent warmth blooming in your chest. Jason Lannister, smug and untouchable to the world, stood before you with his walls lowered—for you, and you alone.

You pulled him closer, your fingers working at the fastenings of his doublet with practiced ease. “Then perhaps you should spend less time parading through markets and more time here, with me.”

Jason laughed softly against your lips, though there was a hunger beneath it now, his hands growing bolder as he lifted you slightly. “The markets are nothing compared to this,” he murmured, his voice roughened by desire. “Compared to you.”

With a final tug, his tunic fell away, revealing the expanse of his chest. The firelight played over the golden skin, highlighting the lines of muscle and the faint scars earned from years of training and pride. You ran your hands over his skin, savoring the warmth and the way his breath hitched under your touch.

“You’re staring,” Jason teased, though his voice was hoarse, his gaze dark with longing.

You smirked faintly, your fingers trailing down his abdomen. “Perhaps I missed you too.”

Jason’s hands slid over your thighs, gripping just above your knees as he lowered himself, pressing kisses to the delicate curve of your hip. “Say it,” he murmured between each kiss, his voice a low rumble. “Say you missed me.”

Your breath caught as he nipped softly at the sensitive skin just below your ribs. “Jason—”

“Say it,” he repeated, his green eyes flickering up to meet yours, his lips still trailing fire along your skin.

You exhaled shakily, your fingers tangling in his curls as you gave in. “I missed you.”

The words seemed to light something in him. Jason surged upward, his lips claiming yours with sudden, ferocious need. He lifted you easily into his arms, carrying you the short distance to the bed and laying you down against the soft furs with a gentleness that belied the hunger in his movements.

He knelt above you for a moment, taking you in—your silver hair spilling across the pillows, the firelight turning your skin brilliant, your chest rising and falling as you waited for him. His gaze softened slightly, the usual arrogance replaced by something deeper, something almost tender.

“You are a sight,” Jason whispered, his voice thick with reverence. “The gods themselves would weep to see you.”

You reached up, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Then come here, my lion. Before I lose my patience.”

Jason grinned, leaning down until his body hovered just above yours. “Impatient, are we? I’ve hardly begun, wife.”

His lips found yours again, slow and teasing at first, before he deepened the kiss, his hands wandering across your body with unhurried possession. He kissed down your neck, your collarbone, until his mouth found your breast, his tongue flicking softly over the sensitive skin. Your back arched beneath him as you gasped his name, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

Jason growled softly against your skin, his voice thick with satisfaction. “There’s my fierce dragon.”

His lips traveled lower, kissing and nipping at every inch of you until you were writhing beneath him, your breaths coming in shallow pants. When you could take no more, you pulled him up by his hair, claiming his lips in a fierce kiss before rolling him onto his back with surprising strength.

Jason let out a startled laugh as you straddled him, his hands instinctively finding your hips. “Oh, you’ve wanted this for a while, haven’t you?” he teased breathlessly, though his voice broke slightly as you sank onto him, his fingers tightening against your skin.

Your breath caught, your body shivering as you adjusted to him. “Quiet, Jason,” you murmured, leaning forward until your lips brushed his ear. “Or I’ll make you beg.”

Jason groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding up to grip your waist as you began to move. “Then beg I will,” he gasped, his voice raw. “If it means you’ll never stop.”

The world around you faded as you moved together, the rhythm of your bodies unashamed and wild. Jason’s hands roamed your body, worshipping you as though he might never touch you again. Your name fell from his lips like a prayer, a litany of reverence and longing that filled the space between each gasp and moan.

When he sat up, wrapping his arms tightly around you, your bodies pressed flush together, his forehead rested against yours as he whispered fiercely, “I love you, Y/N. By the gods, I love you.”

The confession sent you spiraling closer to the edge, your hands tangling in his hair as you gasped against his lips, “I love you too, Jason. Always.”

With a final surge, you both shattered together, your cries mingling as the world fell away, leaving only the two of you in the aftermath of your shared storm.

Jason collapsed back against the furs, pulling you down with him, his arms still wrapped securely around you as though he would never let you go. His breath came ragged, his curls damp with sweat, but his grin—soft and content—remained unshakable.

“Now tell me,” he murmured, brushing a strand of silver hair from your face. “Wasn’t that better than brooding?”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his chest, your voice a sleepy murmur. “It always is.”

Jason hummed contentedly, pulling the furs up around you both as he settled against the pillows. “Good. Because I intend to keep you here for a long, long while, my dragon.”

And as you lay together in the flickering firelight, your bodies tangled and hearts still racing, you allowed yourself to believe—if only for tonight—that the shadows of the Red Keep would never reach you. Not here, not in Jason’s arms.

The great chamber, once a place of solemnity and power, now buzzed faintly with anxiety as lords and retainers gathered in pockets of conversation. Banners of House Targaryen hung heavy from the rafters, their dragons coiling in silent vigilance, while the Iron Throne loomed in the center, cold and sharp as ever.

At the far end of the room, Jason Lannister stood in the center of a small circle of crimson-cloaked retainers from House Lannister. Their polished armor shining in the morning light, each lion sigil stark against the deep red of their cloaks. Jason, of course, stood at the center of it all, utterly at ease. He leaned casually on one hip, his smirk firmly in place as he nodded in faux politeness to whatever Lord Jasper Wylde was droning on about.

“—and with the Crown’s coffers dwindling,” Wylde concluded dourly, “prudence must be taken, my lord. These expenditures cannot continue unchecked.”

Jason tilted his head, a hint of boredom flickering in his green eyes. “Ah, but where would the joy of the realm go, Wylde, if the king stopped spending? No feasts, no tourneys—what a miserable place Westeros would become.” He waved a hand lazily, as though swatting at a fly. “We’re all the poorer for it.”

“Some more than others,” muttered Wylde, though Jason had already stopped listening, his attention shifting as the doors to the chamber groaned open.

Prince Daemon Targaryen swept into the room with all the casual arrogance of a man who had long stopped caring for pleasantries. His presence immediately drew whispers from the assembled lords, their gazes flickering warily toward the Rogue Prince. Clad in black leather, his silver hair falling loose over his shoulders, Daemon strode forward like a shadow cut from firelight. Behind him, the doors slammed shut with a thunderous echo.

Jason’s smile widened faintly as he spotted Daemon heading in his direction, the prince’s gaze sharp and unmistakably amused. The murmurs around them quieted as Daemon stopped just short of Jason’s circle, his dark violet eyes glinting with something that might have been humor.

“Well,” Daemon drawled, his voice a silken purr that carried through the chamber, “if it isn’t the lion of Casterly Rock, still lingering in a dragon’s court.”

Jason turned smoothly, inclining his head in a show of mock respect. “Prince Daemon,” he greeted, his voice light but edged with wit. “To what do I owe the honor of your company? Surely you didn’t come all this way to admire my cloak.”

Daemon smirked faintly, folding his arms across his chest. “I came because the whispers of your presence refuse to die down, Lord Jason. Some might wonder if you’re here to take root in King’s Landing.”

Jason chuckled, unbothered. “And why shouldn’t I? The king himself has extended his hospitality, and my wife and children are most welcome here. Is it so strange that I enjoy the company of my royal kin?”

“Strange? No.” Daemon tilted his head, a sardonic smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Amusing? Very.”

Behind Jason, his brother Tyland shifted uncomfortably, though he kept silent. Jason, ever unflappable, only grinned. “I’m glad I amuse you, Prince Daemon. The court could use more laughter.”

“Laughter,” Daemon repeated, his tone laced with mockery. “Otto Hightower must be beside himself with joy to have you here.”

At the mention of the Hand, Jason’s grin sharpened. “I believe the Hand is a man of great patience, Prince Daemon. Surely my lingering presence does not trouble him. I am, after all, only a devoted husband and proud father of the king’s grandchildren.”

Daemon let out a soft, dark chuckle, his violet eyes narrowing slightly. “Careful, lion. The Hightowers are not known for their humor. I would hate to see Otto lose his temper.”

Jason shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “If he does, I’ll offer him a Lannister coin to soothe his nerves. A man like Otto values coin more than laughter, wouldn’t you agree?”

The corner of Daemon’s mouth twitched as though he were holding back a laugh. “You’ve a dangerous tongue, Lord Jason. Perhaps I’ve misjudged you—I thought the lions roared only when provoked.”

Jason inclined his head slightly, his voice dropping just enough that only Daemon could hear. “Only when it suits us, my prince.”

The tension between them stayed for a moment, though it was not born of hostility. Daemon’s sharp gaze lingered on Jason, as though weighing him, before the Rogue Prince let out a soft snort of amusement. “You’ll be trouble yet,” he said, though there was something almost approving in his tone. “I’ll enjoy watching Otto squirm over you.”

“You’ll have front-row seats, I’m sure,” Jason replied smoothly, the two men sharing a knowing look.

Before Daemon could respond, a sharp voice broke through the growing quiet.

“Prince Daemon. Lord Jason.”

Both men turned to find Otto Hightower approaching with all the grace of a vulture circling its prey. His expression was carefully neutral, though his sharp eyes flickered with thinly veiled annoyance as they settled on Jason.

“My lord,” Otto said, his tone clipped, “I wonder how it is you find so much time to linger in our halls. Surely the Westerlands require your attention?”

Jason smiled—pleasant and unbothered. “Ah, Lord Hand, I was just telling Prince Daemon how generous the king has been in extending his hospitality to my family. It would be most ungrateful of me to leave too soon.”

Otto’s jaw tightened slightly, though his composure remained intact. “Generosity is a virtue, my lord, but it is easily taken advantage of.”

Jason’s smile didn’t falter, though his green eyes glittered with something sharper. “I assure you, Lord Otto, I take only what is offered. Nothing more.”

Daemon, watching the exchange like a cat watching two dogs squabble, leaned closer to Jason. “Careful, Lannister,” he murmured just loud enough for Otto to hear. “The Hand might mistake your charm for ambition.”

Otto’s gaze flickered toward Daemon, his expression icy. “Prince Daemon, your concern for the realm is, as always, commendable.”

Jason let out a soft laugh, clearly enjoying the exchange. “I’m flattered by your interest in my affairs, Lord Otto, but I assure you—I have no ambition beyond enjoying the company of my wife and children.”

“Of course,” Otto replied coldly. “May it remain so.”

With a final glance between Jason and Daemon, the Hand turned on his heel and strode back toward the throne, leaving the two men in his wake.

Jason watched him go, his smirk firmly in place. “Charming, isn’t he?”

Daemon huffed a quiet laugh, his violet eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’ll give him a fit before this is done.”

“Let him fret,” Jason replied smoothly, straightening his crimson cloak. “It does him good to remember the lions are watching.”

Daemon tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I’m beginning to think I misjudged you, Lannister.”

“Good,” Jason replied, grinning as he turned toward his retainers. “Let them all keep guessing.”

And as the chamber’s murmur swelled once more, Jason Lannister stood tall amidst the dragons and shadows, a lion who would not be cowed—much to the dismay of those who watched.

A warm breeze fluttered the silken curtains, carrying with it the faint hum of the city beyond the walls. Inside, the quiet of the room was broken only by the soft coos of the twins and the rustle of the nursemaid’s skirts as she moved about with quiet efficiency.

You sat near the center of the room in a cushioned chair, a babe cradled in each arm. Leona’s tiny fingers were wrapped around the edge of your gown as she blinked up at you with curious eyes. Beside you, Loren dozed with a furrowed brow, his small chest rising and falling steadily as the morning’s warmth lulled him to sleep.

Rhaenyra stood just inside the doorway, her presence as silent as the shadows she brought with her. Her gown, simple yet elegant, pooled lightly at her feet, the faintest glimmer of pearls lining the bodice. She watched you with a carefully neutral expression, her violet gaze lingering first on the twins and then on you as you murmured softly to Leona.

“You must stop grabbing at my gown,” you said quietly to the little girl, though your voice held no true chastisement. “One day, you’ll have gowns of your own, stitched with dragons and lions both. But for now, you must be patient, little one.”

Leona gurgled in response, her tiny grip tightening stubbornly, as though determined to prove she already possessed a lion’s pride. You smiled faintly, brushing your fingers over her soft hair as Loren let out a small sigh in his sleep.

Rhaenyra’s voice broke the silence, soft and tentative. “You’re very good with them.”

Your head lifted, surprised to find her standing there. Her tone was not unkind, but there was a strange hesitation to her words—as though she were unsure of herself.

“They’re babes,” you replied gently, though your gaze held hers for a moment longer than necessary. “They demand little more than patience.”

Rhaenyra stepped further into the room, her hands clasped loosely before her as she approached. “Patience is not something I possess in abundance.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “I recall.”

The words hung between you like a bridge half-built, both of you waiting to see whether the other would step forward to cross it. Rhaenyra finally moved to sit in the chair opposite you, her gaze flickering briefly to Loren before returning to you.

“They have your hair,” she observed, her voice quieter now. “Leona, especially.”

“And Jason’s stubbornness,” you added, glancing down at the girl still gripping your gown with surprising tenacity. “I’m afraid they’ve inherited the worst of both of us.”

Rhaenyra’s lips quirked faintly, though her expression soon softened as her gaze lingered on Loren’s sleeping form. “They are beautiful,” she said after a moment. “The first dragons born to the realm since… well, since us.”

There was a note of something unreadable in her voice—nostalgia, perhaps, or longing. You looked up, studying her carefully. “You sound as though that troubles you.”

Rhaenyra shook her head slightly, though her gaze didn’t meet yours. “It does not trouble me. It only… makes me think.” She paused, the hesitation returning to her voice. “Of what people will say. What they will expect.”

You shifted slightly in your chair, adjusting Loren’s position as you replied. “What people say has never stopped you before, sister.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes met yours then, sharp and searching. “Perhaps it should have.”

The words surprised you, though you masked it quickly. “You don’t mean that.”

Rhaenyra exhaled softly, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I don’t know what I mean anymore.” She paused before adding, almost reluctantly, “You’ve always been better at this than I.”

“At what?” you asked gently.

“At… being what they want,” Rhaenyra replied, her tone tinged with something that sounded like envy. “A wife. A mother. A princess who doesn’t stray too far from her place.” Her eyes lifted to meet yours again, and the truth of her words lay bare. “They look at you and see everything they wish I could be.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by Leona’s quiet babbling and the soft sound of the nursemaid tending to the blankets nearby. You held Rhaenyra’s gaze, searching for the right words.

“I am not what they wish me to be,” you said finally, your voice steady but quiet. “Nor have I ever been. Do you think they truly love me for who I am, Rhaenyra? The people love what they see—a perfect marriage, perfect babes, a union of that everybody supports. But it’s all illusion.” You paused, brushing your thumb over Loren’s tiny hand. “You know as well as I do that illusions are not so easily kept.”

Rhaenyra looked away, her jaw tightening as she absorbed your words. “You make it look so simple.”

“It is not simple,” you said softly. “It never has been. But I chose this path, as you chose yours.”

“And mine feels heavier,” Rhaenyra murmured, her voice faint.

You regarded her carefully, sensing the cracks beneath her carefully maintained facade. “Your path was never meant to be light, Rhaenyra. You will be queen someday, and queens carry the weight of the realm on their shoulders.”

“And what if I stumble?” she whispered, almost to herself. “What if I fall?”

“Then you will rise again,” you replied firmly, your gaze unyielding. “You are a Targaryen, sister. It is what we do.”

Rhaenyra looked at you then, truly looked at you, and for the first time in days, something softened between you. The distance that had lingered—unspoken but present—seemed to ease ever so slightly. She nodded once, her lips pressing into a faint, almost reluctant smile.

“You would make a fine queen,” she said, though her tone held no bitterness this time.

“And you will be a better one,” you replied, offering her a small, genuine smile.

Rhaenyra seemed to consider your words for a moment before she leaned forward slightly, her gaze drifting to Leona, who was now sucking on her tiny fist. “May I hold her?”

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Of course.”

Carefully, you handed Leona to Rhaenyra, who cradled the babe with surprising gentleness. The little girl blinked up at her aunt, cooing softly as Rhaenyra traced a finger along her delicate cheek.

“She’s fierce,” Rhaenyra murmured, her voice quiet but fond. “I can see it in her eyes.”

“Just like you,” you replied softly, watching the two of them with something that felt like hope.

Rhaenyra glanced up, her smile small but real this time. “Perhaps.”

And for the first time in what felt like too long, the silence between you wasn’t awkward—it was comforting. The cracks between sisters were not yet healed, but they were mending. One soft moment at a time.

From The Testimony of Mushroom, corroborated in part by Grand Maester Mellos and court records, as recorded in The Histories of the Dragon’s Heirs

Three moons after the ill-fated wedding of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Ser Laenor Velaryon, the golden lions of the West departed King’s Landing. Lord Jason Lannister, his wife, Princess Y/N, and their twin babes, Leona and Loren, took leave of the Red Keep amidst great fanfare, accompanied by a grand retinue of Lannister knights, bannermen, and retainers. Their banners, adorned with roaring lions, snapped in the breeze as they made their way through the capital, a sight as impressive as it was final.

It is said that the mood within the Red Keep on that morning was somber, weighed down by the unspoken truths no one dared name aloud. King Viserys I, whose health had begun to falter visibly in those days, stood at the gates of the keep with his remaining strength, watching his daughter’s family prepare for their journey westward. Mushroom, ever a creature of dramatic embellishment, claims that tears streamed openly down the king’s cheeks as he embraced his grandchildren for the last time.

"The king wept like a man broken," Mushroom writes, "his great hands trembling as he cradled the babes—one silver-haired dragon, the other emerald-eyed as a lion’s cub. He kissed both upon their brows and clutched at his daughter’s hands as though he meant to anchor her to King’s Landing forever. ‘You must write to me,’ the king pleaded, his voice weak. ‘Tell me when the child comes.’”

For it was true, according to Grand Maester Mellos’s accounts, that Princess Y/N was once again with child—an unexpected but not unwelcome revelation that had caused much murmuring within the court. Mushroom, in his usual crude candor, claims that Jason Lannister was adamant that “no child of his would first draw breath beneath the shadow of the Iron Throne.” Whether this was a remark made in jest or in earnest cannot be determined, but Jason’s swift preparations for their departure following the announcement left many to speculate.

It was not only the king who was affected by the Lannisters’ leave-taking. Princess Rhaenyra, whose relationship with her sister had been marked by coolness since the events of her wedding, was said to have watched the procession in stony silence from her chambers high above the courtyard. Mushroom, who ever claims to be where he should not, reports that Rhaenyra said nothing as the last Lannister banner disappeared from view, but her handmaidens noted the tension in her shoulders and the faint crease of her brow. “Perhaps,” Mushroom muses, “she regretted letting her sister go—for once gone, the princess of lions and dragons would be far beyond the reach of her whispers.”

The Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower, watched the departure with far less sentimentality. The Hand had grown increasingly wary of Lord Jason’s presence in King’s Landing, seeing in him a lion too bold and too loved by the king. His swift departure—though ostensibly amicable—was seen by many as a quiet victory for Otto, who had long worked to reclaim control of the court’s increasingly volatile politics.

As for Jason himself, Grand Maester Mellos writes that the Lord of Casterly Rock wore a face of supreme satisfaction as he escorted his family through the gates of the Red Keep. The man’s pride had not dimmed in the slightest since his arrival moons earlier, and he departed King’s Landing as he had entered it—with confidence, grandeur, and an unshakable air of triumph.

Mushroom, however, paints a different picture of Jason Lannister’s parting. “The lion was no fool,” he writes. “He knew the game in the Red Keep had changed, and he would not allow his wife or babes to be pieces upon the board. His laughter may have echoed through the halls, but I saw him that morning, whispering in his lady’s ear as she held their son. There was steel beneath his smiles, and a man who wears his pride so boldly knows when to retreat.”

What cannot be denied is the impression the Lannisters left behind. The smallfolk of King’s Landing gathered to watch their departure, crowding the streets and calling out blessings for the twins, whose silver hair had become the subject of many songs and stories. Women tossed flowers into the path of their carriages, while men waved banners and shouted cheers for “the lions and dragons of the West.”

It is said that the departure left an emptiness in the Red Keep that even King Viserys’s courtiers could not ignore. The king himself withdrew to his chambers more often in the days that followed, his health waning as his spirits seemed to diminish without the presence of his grandchildren. Mushroom claims that he heard the king sigh heavily during a council meeting weeks later, muttering, “The Rock is far, and my halls are silent.”

In the moons to come, the absence of Lord Jason and his family would be felt keenly as tensions in King’s Landing deepened. The king’s failing health, the ever-growing influence of the Hightowers, and the lingering shadows of the past all threatened to boil over. And yet, from the Westerlands, news would arrive that Princess Y/N Lannister—beloved daughter of King Viserys and proud lady of Casterly Rock—had given birth to a third child. Mushroom, always fond of theatrics, claims that Jason Lannister toasted the babe’s arrival with a goblet in hand, declaring:

"Born of fire, the West’s future grows brighter still."

What cannot be denied is this: while the Red Keep festered with whispers and schemes, the lions of the West had returned to their den—strong, unshaken, and with the future firmly in their grasp.

[editorandchief]

Hell Hath No Fury | Part III

Requested: Yes. SEND SOME REQUESTS!!

Warning: descriptions of violence, mentions of infertility

Summary: Chess not checkers. One | Two

You hear the shouts and gasps around you, as stumble backwards attempting to steady yourself as you carried your child in your arms. You feel your child being taken from your arms as you finally loos balance falling to the ground, you place your hand over your midsection. Pulling your hand away. you see the red dripping down your palm.

"Guards! Guards!" Someone called out, looking up to the person standing above you, you lock eyes with Alys Strong. 

"How dare you?" Lucerys sneered at the older women as he pulled his sword, before it could touch her neck it was knocked away. pushing Alys behind him Aemond steps up to Luce.

"Someone call for the Maesters!" Rhaenerya called out. "And have this women taken to the dungeons." She said dropping down to attend to the princess bleeding on the ground before her eyes close.

***

You wince once as the needle once again while the maester closes your wound, your hisses of pain are the only thing filling the deafening silence that surrounds you, your husband and the maester.  

"I will have milk of the poppy delivered for the pain princess." Mellos informed. 

"Thank you maester." You replied with a strained smile. 

Collecting his materials, he quietly exit the room leaving you and Aemond alone.

After a few moment of silence Aemond feeling your glare on the side of his face as he attempts to avoid your gaze. 

"I couldn't-." Aemond started. "I couldn't imagine what you must be going through right now." 

"Did you bring her here?" You asked narrowing you eyes for any sign dishonesty. "Did you bring that woman here, to court?"

"of course not."

"Of course not." You scoffed. "Because its not like you have a history with her, of putting her before your family, and now she has arrived at court to take the lives of me and my children and I'm to believe it's not under your influence."

"How could you ask thi-."

"How could you defend her!" You shouted. "Before you me, before your son! You defended that whore in front of the entire court, now the women who tried to take the lives of our children still lives because you care more to have a place to put your cock then your own sons." You screamed, looking towards the door you see Lucerys accompanied by his family.

"Luce." You whimpered out as he rushed to your side taking a seat on the bed he wraps his arms around your shaking figure. "I was so scared."

***

Aemond departed soon after the arrival of Luce and his family, most of whom also left at your please to make sure that your children were safe. 

"What will happen when he takes her for a mistress? What if she tries to harm me? what if she tries to harm my children? I care not for my life, but please don't let anything happen to my children." You pleaded to him as you gripped his shirt.

"I care for you." Luce said firmly leaning closer to you. "And I care for the boys just as much and I won't let anything happen to any of you."

Staring into his eyes its silent between you both before you lean in and attach your lips to his. Reaching your hand out you push your fingers through his dark curls as you pull him closer, without thinking Lucerys runs his hand down your waist causing you to gasp in pain. 

"I'm sorry," He says as he attempts to catch his breath. "I should not have." 

"Please don't apologize...not for this." You plead bringing your hand down to rest on his cheek. "I often wonder what it would be to have married you, how happy we might be." 

Leaning his head down to touch yours Luce closed his eyes and let put a breath. "As do I."  

Pulling him closer to you, you press your forehead against him. "I must ask a favor from you." You sighed out. "I know that Alys is being held in the dungeons...and I wish to speak with her."

"I will call for the maesters." 

"Luce-."

"No! Clearly you have gone mad." He rebuttals pulling away. "Why on earth would you wish you speak to that woman after all she has done to you?"  

"Because I need answers, Luce." You replied. "I need to know why she- I don't know. Why she- and Aemond will not give me answers and I feel like if I don't know I will live in fear and confusion and I can-."

"okay okay okay." Luce relents pulling you into a his arms. "If this is what you need."

Wrapping your arms around him before resting your head on his shoulder. "Thank you Luce." a smile creeping onto your face. 

***

Walking down to the dungeon on the late hours of the night you cling to Luce as you descend the stair. "Just down there." The guard instructed taking the bag of coins Lucerys offered for his discretion.  

Walking along the hall of cells occupied by thieves and the like you come to the very last and see the woman in question sitting on the cold stone floor two cuffs adorned her hands attached to a long chain nailed to the wall. 

"We've come to ask questions." Luce states stepping forward. "You will answer them if you know what's good for you." 

Alys sat silent on the ground simply glaring at the two royals in front of her. "Why have you come?" You asked quietly clutching onto Luce's arm,. "Was I the only target of your rage? Do you plan to harm my children?" Still nothing was said before she scoffed and turned to face the puddle on the ground that was being fed by a steady drip of water from an unknown location.

Taking a deep breath you squeezed Luce's arm before speaking. "Perhaps, if you were to leave us alone for a few moments." You suggested. "Please Lucerys, it's not as if she could hurt me from in there, if this is the only way she will talk..." You say before he can protest.

"I won't be far." Lucerys said as not only an assurance to you, but as a warning to Alys before turning around and walking back down the hall. 

Once Lucerys was far enough away Alys sat and waited for you to speak, she knew this would happen, that if she had failed in her attempt that you would come for her. She took shuddering breaths waiting for what torture you would see fit to subject her to this time, when something pulled her from her thoughts. 

No....Nothing pulled her from her thoughts. the dungeon that was filled with the echos of groans, coughs, wails and whines of the captured criminals had all ceased. Glancing up Alys' breath hitched as she stared at the drop of water frozen in mid air.

"You know for all your faults." You spoke. "I thought you were smarter than this." 

Snapping her head in your direction she sees that there is no longer a wall of metal bars between you, there is nothing stopping you from killing her.  

"Don't worry Alys, I'm not here to hurt you." You assured. 

"How can you be sure I won't hurt you?" Alys asked shuffling back, attempting to put on a brave face. lifting her chin and stoning her face. "Again." 

"Do you really think if I didn't want you to stab me I would have let it happen?" You smirked at the women as she held a look of shock on her face. "Now your probably asking yourself, 'why would she do this?'," you mocked with a nasally voice. 

"In truth I thought I could forgive Aemond for what he did but, the more I thought about it the more I found myself thinking of ways I could kill him without being caught, Training accident, poison, assassination, suffocating him in his sleep, hell most days I thought to just slit his throat and get it over with." You explained. "But then after three long months...you showed up and publicly attack me! and what does my 'loving' and 'loyal' husband do? he defends you." You let out a joyous laugh.

"After all Aemond is a not only a second son of a second wife but he's also what....three....four seventh in line for the throne and before Jacerys produces an heir, he stands to inherit nothing meaning and the only thing he could give my children is their titles and perhaps a bastard brother if that graveyard you call a womb ever proves fruitful, meanwhile the maesters fear I may never bare children again." You said letting a tear escape you eye before the smile returned. "But I will and that child will be Lucerys', it will be seen as a miracle and yet another strife I have overcome despite my unfaithful husband and his bastard witch mistress. 

"Lucerys is heir to Driftmark and second in line for the throne, he could be King someday if Jacerys were to meet an unfortunate end, after I have my marriage to Aemond annulled Luce and I will request for the Queen to allow us to marry and he will take my children as his own, Armon could one day sit the throne as Aemon would on Driftmark."

"Why? Why go through all this trouble for a man you have no feelings for?" Alys asked.

"Oh I have a great many feelings for my dear husband." You sneered. "Disgust. Shame. Disappointment, but overall...Fury. How dare he humiliate me? Taking me for a fool? To push me aside for the like of the same blood her claimed to despise so much. A lesson needed to be taught, I made the mistake of excluding him from the first but this is one you two will learn together. You may stay in Kingslanding as is Aemond's right, but you will never know a moment of peace, you will always be looked at as the evil, vile, bastard, whore that attacked the princess with her child in her arms. You will be shunned, hated and looked down on as will any children you produce. Aemond has no claim to the throne in Kingslanding, Dragonstone is reserved for the heir and you no claim to Harrenheilm. No Lord or Lady would welcome you to their lands. You wanted Aemond more than anything as he wanted you and now you both will have nothing and no one besides each other." You explained as Alys stares blankly at a wall as your words pierce her mind with the new reality.

 "Plus but just between us girls." You leaned in with a wide grin. "Luce is a far better kisser."

Alys lunged at you as your body glides through the bars, you back against the wall in an attempt to create distance between the two of you, Luce rushed towards to hearing the commotion only to find you cowering against the wall as Alys screamed curses at you.

Wrapping you in his arms Luce made sure to check that she had not harmed you as the guards finally arrived. "Its fine." Luce assured them before glaring at Alys. "Just an animal getting use to her chains." He spat before leading you away and out of the dungeons.

Taglist 🏷️: @watercolorsky @happinessinthebeing

@papichulo120627 @undercoversasa @zillahvathek

@alexa554 @snixx2088 @luv-mia

[gnocchibabie]

The Realm's Tragedy

Chapter 1 - The Porcelain Princess

aemond targaryen x fem!targaryen!oc

next chapter --- masterlist --- ao3

Summary: Maevys Targaryen is born into a kingdom overshadowed by calamity. With her mother Aemma Arryn gone, King Viserys consumed by grief, and Princess Rhaenyra adrift in sorrow, young Maevys finds herself at the heart of a fractured family. As she emerges from the shadows of tragedy, she must navigate the delicate balance between the remnants of a broken lineage and the impending storm of a new era.

As the dragons dance, the princess must learn to accept an unforgiving truth: All Must Choose.

Warnings: gore and blood, graphic descriptions of violence/traumatic childbirth

Wordcount: 1.2k

112 AC – King’s Landing

The piercing screams of Queen Aemma Arryn echo through the halls of the Red Keep, filling King Viserys I Targaryen with a sickening dread as he hastily rushes to her chamber. The cries are not those of labor but are more akin of an animal in its final moments. The merriment of the tourney presumes outside the castle walls, unknowing of the chaos that swarms within. 

When Viserys finally pushes open the door, the sight of his wife – disheveled and dripping with anguish – has him rushing to her side. 

Aemma had always had great difficulty bearing children – it was a wonder Rhaenyra had even been brought into this world – but this, this was different. All color had been drained from the Queen, leaving only a layer of cool sweat covering her pale form. Hair sticking to her face, breathing labored, and grip weak on her husband’s hand, the King felt his wife drift further and further away from him.

She looked more spectral than alive.

Aemma.

Viserys looks around to the handmaidens attending to his wife, though they skillfully avoid his gaze.

“Mellos.” The king breathes out, leaving his wife to speak with the maester. 

A grim look paints the face of his most skilled healer, “My King…during a difficult birth, it sometimes becomes necessary for the father to make an impossible choice.”

Viserys blinks incredulously at the man before him as his wife continues with her agony, “Well speak it!” His heart pounds.

“To sacrifice one…or to lose them both.” Mellos replies, voice measured despite the chaos surrounding them. Viserys listens to the man describe the technique taught at The Citadel – the barbaric ritual of cutting the babe from its mother, in hopes it may be saved. The King hears his words, but finds it hard to truly listen to them.

Mello’s stern face wavers for a moment, “But the resulting blood loss-”

“Seven Hells, Mellos.” The King took a deep breath to keep his panic from setting in, from blurring his better judgment. 

The Gods punish me…They set an impossible decision before me. 

Viserys looks back at Aemma once more, seeing his wife has calmed, her pain momentarily subsiding. A handmaid dabs a damp rag to the queen’s pale forehead, and she almost looks serene. He thinks of his son, stirring within her, waiting to come out into this world. To be set forth into the realm he will one day rule. 

Expelling a shaky breath, Viserys turns his back to her, “You can save the child?”

“We must either act now, or leave it with the Gods.” Mellos replies.

It feels as though a piece of Viserys, some portion of his soul deep within, withers away at the choice before him.

All he can muster is a grim nod to his maester as he returns to his wife, one final time. 

Aemma, even despite her current torment, finds a faint smile at seeing her husband once more. Her mind is less clouded, her body less addled with pain as she properly greets her king.

“Viserys…” Her voice is faint and wispy, as though merely speaking was a herculean task. 

Tears cloud the vision of the king, though he hides them with a smile to his wife. His Aemma.

“They’re going to bring the babe out now.”

And so they did. 

Amidst the screams of his wife, a sharp steel scalpel pressed against her soft, swollen belly – blood soon pouring out from within the queen like a deep red sea, staining her linen underdress and the pristine sheets below her. Amidst her thrashing turned feeble attempts of escape. Amidst her moaning turned to fleeting breaths. 

The last thing Aemma Arryn experienced in this world was great pain, and great fear. 

A babe, quiet and still is pulled out from her at last.

“A boy, Your Grace.” Mellos replies, though any celebration from the revelation is soured. 

The infant is silent, and the room grows cold. The King holds the bloody, small thing in his arms and weeps for his wife and son.

“Maester Mellos!” a handmaiden voices, “There is another!”

The room blurs around Viserys as another babe is pulled from Aemma Arryn. With a few strong pats to the infant’s back, it’s bawling fills the room. A flicker of life is breathed into the somber scene.

“A girl, my King.” The maester announces. 

A daughter.

Viserys looks at the small, crying baby now being swaddled in soft linens. Muck and blood wiped from her as her crying continues. Tears blur his vision once more, barely able to see the small patch of white hair crested atop her head. 

For a moment, he is filled with the overwhelming desire to name his newest daughter, Aemma. After the mother she will never know in this life. Though, looking at the ghastly scene before him, he thinks better than to condemn the girl to such a fate. 

A name was a powerful thing, and Viserys was a man of many cryptic beliefs.

Aemma would not do.

“Maevys,” he breathes. A new name, a fresh start, a blank page. “Maevys…my daughter. My princess.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To suddenly be an older sister was an odd thing, Rhaenyra Targaryen had thought.

To suddenly be a motherless child, an even odder one. 

The eldest princess looks down at the babe lying in her fine wooden cradle, swathed in soft cloths. Maevys had finally quieted, after hours of squawking and shrieking, as if her cries should make up for the one’s her brother never had the chance to utter. 

Her sister was small, too small for even an infant. Pale as well, as though all her strength had been drained from her from the mere attempt of being born. 

If you could call it such a thing. 

Rhaenyra was haunted by the news of what had become of her mother. Her mother, once so full of life and laughter and love – reduced to a broodmare of a woman. So much so, that it became her undoing. 

The image of her sister however, soothed the princess. Perhaps a piece of her mother still lay before her.

She had a little sister, a girl to love and cherish and tell stories of their mother to. A girl she and Alicent could parade around with and take under their wings. Is that what sisters did?

Rhaenyra leans closer to the cradle. Did I look like this once?

The infant has all the hallmark Targaryen features: silver-white hair and expressive purple eyes. Perhaps she even had the Arryn look about her, some remnants of their mother. Though, only time would tell.

Rhaenyra feared, though, that the girl would not live very long at all. The babe was a weak looking thing after all. She even heard hushed whispers amongst her mother’s handmaidens, that the maester did not expect the girl to live past a week. The nickname, “The Porcelain Princess” had already begun to circulate throughout the castle walls due to her sister’s delicate state. Though no one would dare utter the words in front of the girl’s father or older sister.

“Maevys,” Rhaenyra breathed and watched as the little girl stirred, as though she already recognized her name, “You must prove them wrong, Maevys. You must stay.” Her voice quivers at the end of her plea, a hand grasping the babe’s cradle so hard, Rhaenyra’s knuckles turn white. 

And so, Maevys did.

Author's Note: hello there! i hope you enjoyed this very depressing and grim first chapter (I promise they wont ALL be like this). this is the beginning of what will hopefully be a pretty lenghty fic, which will come to focus on the ~eventual~ relationship between maevys and aemond. this is my second aemond fic (i am not immune to his charm) and i will be updating this alongside another project that is currently ongoing. because of this, updates may be a little sporadic, but i am dedicated to both series :) i hope you all enjoy this story! i have many ideas for many characters that i cannot wait to put to page and share with you all. thank you so much for reading <3

[asvterias]

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟤: 𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖯𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗈𝗌

the cast // series masterlist

chap. 1 || chap. 2 || chap. 3 || chap. 4 || chap. 5

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Canon-Divergence, Targ!Cest, Typical Misogyny, Just Daemon, A Simple Conversation about Daemon, Some Foreshadowing, Mentions of Daemon & Slight Jealousy

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Father!Corlys Velaryon ✘ Daughter!Reader, King’s Small Council ✘ Teen!Rhaenyra Targaryen ✘ Fem!Velaryon!Reader, Teen!Alicent Hightower ✘ Fem!Velaryon!Reader, Teen!Rhaenyra Targaryen ✘ Fem!Velaryon!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Returning to The King’s Small Council very late would cause a disturbance and Princess Rhaneyra could care less. As long as Y/N, Alicent, and Rhaenyra were seen together, everything would be alright and light confessions would rise.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k+

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @username23345 @fae-the-wanderer @hippivanhan34 @harjasblog @feyresqueen @ithemaduh @poopietomuch @starless-nightz @yelenaslyubov @chittakii @flowerluzx @laiahernandeeezzz @dvrkhcld @lizzieswife101

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Please don’t be a silent reader and interact within the chapter! If you wanna be tagged in this book, comment below and say ‘future tag’! Also go check out my tiktok page @/localgirlie, where I post videos relating to this fanfic! gif credit to @/bonniebirddoesgifs

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝟐: I apologize for being an unannounced hiatus, school got heinous quick already, so yeah that’s my bad. I promise I will try not to make this a habit because I’m posting next month, but I will do my best to keep you updated.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝟑: Also if you like Daemon, then don’t read this, reader is NOT a lover of him. Later in the book, reader will grow to tolerate him, that’s it and all.

🌊 ✘ 🔥

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟤

𝖲𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖮𝗇𝖾: 𝖤𝗉𝗂𝗌𝗈𝖽𝖾 𝖮𝗇𝖾

𝟏𝟏𝟏 𝐀𝐂

𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘨’𝘴 𝘓𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨

••••

Two guards opened the heavy wooden doors, allowing you and Rhaenyra to saunter inside to view the members of the King’s council already engaged in discussion. Lord Corlys Velaryon, your dear father, was currently informing the council, displaying a map of their conflict of interest.

At the head of the council table, there sat King Viserys, and His Hand Ser Otto Hightower sitting on his rightward side.

On the King’s leftward side, Lord Lyonel Strong, Lord Mellos, and Lord Lyman Beesbury had taken their seats, leaving your father, Lord Corlys Velaryon, sitting directly ahead of the King.

“…They call him ‘The Crabfeeder’ due to his inventive methods of punishing his enemies.” Your father’s voice was the first to be heard.

“And are we meant to weep for dead pirates?” King Viserys retorted, letting the situation fly over his head.

The Princess walked ahead of you, going directly to her father as you immediately headed over to the wine table.

“No, your grace.” Lord Corlys replied, only to be interrupted again.

“Rhaenyra and Lady Y/N, you’re late.” King Viserys gently reprimanded the two young girls. “King’s cupbearers must not be late, leaves people wanting for cups.”

“My apologies, Your Grace,”

“It’s quite alright, Lady Y/N, I know Rhaenyra roped you into her plans,”

The Princess kissed her father’s cheek. “I was visiting mother.”

About to pull away from her father’s grasp, he steadied her wrist, tugging her forward again, now catching a whiff of her scent. “On dragonback?” He questions with a low tone.

Rhaenyra detached from her father’s grip, venturing forward to the wine table, and grabbing a pitcher.

“Hey, Your Grace at Prince Daemon’s urging the crown has invested significant capital in the re-training and re-equipping of his City Watch.” Lord Beesbury announces, “I thought you might urge your brother to fill his seat on the council and provide an assessment of his progress as commander of the Watch.”

By then, Rhaenyra had already refilled her father’s wine, moving on to the next person.

Once your father was reseated in his chair, you moved toward him, the wine pitcher held steady in your hand. You could sense his gaze on you, the cold yet disapproving glare set upon you.

Trying your best to ignore his disapproving glare, you plastered on a small smile and poured his wine. As soon as his cup was filled, you ventured closer to Rhaenyra, finding more ease with her presence. You send her a faint smile, receiving one in return as you both intently listen.

“Do you think Daemon is distracted by his present tasks? And that his thoughts and energies are occupied?” King Viserys asked Lord Beesbury.

“Well, one would hope so, considering the associated costs,”

The King nodded his head, “Then let us all consider your gold well-invested, Lord Beesbury,” You politely patted the said lord’s shoulder, filling up his cup as he thanked you with a firm head nod.

“I would urge that you not allow this Triarchy much latitude in the Stepstones, Your Grace.” Corlys spoke, seeking reason in his tone, “If those shipping lanes should fall, it will beggar our ports.”

“The crown has heard your report, Lord Corlys, and takes it under advisement.” Otto Hightower claims, his expression unreadable as always.

You made eye contact with Rhaenyra, both girls resisting the temptation to roll their eyes at the older man’s irritating voice. It’s a wonder how Alicent handles her father every time, she’s truly a survivor.

“Shall we discuss the Heir’s Tournament, Your Grace?” Otto asks the King, turning back to him.

“Oh gods, please do, this subject is getting boring,” You mutter to yourself, plastering a fake smile when Otto sends a glance your way.

You had to bite away your incoming insult, brewing into your mind, rather than focusing on pouring him another glass. Quite frankly, you didn’t care about Lord Otto’s opinions of you, he knew well enough to not pester you, yet you struggled to not make a mockery of him.

“I would be delighted,” King Viserys smiled, mindlessly picking at his food, “Will the maesters’ name say prediction hold, Mellos?”

“You must understand that these things are mere estimations, my King, but we have all been poring over the moon charts and we feel that our forecast is as accurate as it can be.” Lord Mellos explains to the council, his tone is dry as ever, “The cost of the tournament is not negligible. Perhaps we might delay until the child is in hand?”

Lord Lyonel sighs, “Most of the lords and ladies are certainly on their way to King’s Landing already. To turn them back now–“

“The tourney will take the better part of a week.” The King interrupted the advisors, his tone charismatic and hopeful, “Before the games are over, my son will be born and the whole realm will celebrate.”

“We have no way of predicting the sex of the child,”

“Of course, no maester’s capable of rendering an opinion free of conditions, are they now?” He chuckles slightly, still chewing on his food. “There’s a boy in the Queen’s belly, I know it.”

You caught Rhaenyra’s saddened gaze, smoothly approaching to be at her side, going to the wine table again.

“And my heir will soon put all of this damnable hand-wringing to rest himself.” He declares loudly, having fed up with the insistent questions. “That will be all, council is dismissed.”

King Viserys’ last statements fell on deaf ears for the two young ladies, who became wrapped in their own thoughts.

Immediately, your hand reaches out to settle on top of Rhaenyra’s hand, squeezing it softly. She made no reaction to the kind and simple gesture, so you knew she was deep in thought. Of these past couple of days, the hassle of her mother’s pregnancy and her father’s insistence on producing a son. Worst of all, Rhaenyra had expressed her concerns to deaf ears, feeling overlooked by the pressure of a brother. It was stressful for the entire family of three.

A son for the Iron Throne. His male heir. His next successor. A gender in which Rhaenyra is not, meaning her father will never see her fit to be.

••••

After the hostile meeting of the small council members was finally adjourned, the men slowly departed, off to complete their other duties.

Unlike the two young ladies rushing out of the council meeting, arms looped together and tantalizing giggles filled the corridors. As you passed maids and guards, who bowed in respect and continued their tasks, the two young ladies headed in search of Alicent.

You found your other dearest friend, already occupied underneath the familiar spot, sitting on a blanket with a history book in her hand. When she spotted her two friends, a wide grin overtook her face, and happily waved over, encouraging them to come closer. The Weirwood Tree was a special place for the trio of girls, it was a hangout. Associated with the ideal combination of reviving fresh air and receiving light confessions, the atmosphere was peaceful.

Sitting upright crisscrossing as you face your friends, Alicent doing the same position with Rhaenyra’s head on her lap. You fiddled with the loose strands of your silver hair, listening to Alicent revising Rhaenyra’s studies.

Seemingly, Rhaenyra was bored out of her mind, completely disinterested in the subject as Alicent’s frustration with her beloved friend heightened.

“Did you read it?” Alicent tilted her head asking the silver-haired girl lying on her crossed legs.

“Of course, I read it.” Princess Rhaenyra hummed softly.

“When Princess Nymeria arrived in Dorne, who did she take to husband?” The Hightower girl decided to test Rhaenyra’s knowledge of history.

“A man,” The young royal blandly answered, the disinterest clear in her tone. History always bored the Princess, she sought no interest in it, therefore she never expressed any.

“What was his name, Nyra?” You insisted, poking at her side, lightly pinching her exposed pale arm. She paused, distracted by the small sharp pain, glancing at you, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursued. She dropped the leaf on the grass, primarily attentive to your movements and facial expressions.

Truly, she could never be irritated at you, but the reaction was only an excuse to stare at you. Soon enough, her gaze shifted elsewhere, rolling her eyes, “Lord Something.” She replies with an exhausted sigh.

“If you answer with ‘Lord Something’ Septa Marlow will be furious,” Alicent reminds her Targaryen friend.

“She’s funny when she’s furious,”

You glimpsed at Rhaenyra, tilting your head, and watching her anxious movements.

“You’re always like this when you’re worried,”

It was noticeable and Rhaenyra wasn’t even attempting to hide it. Perhaps, she wanted you to notice and pester her about it.

“Like what?”

“Disagreeable,”

Rhaenyra meets your gaze first and shifts her eyes toward Alicent, both girls reassuringly giving a subtle hint of confessing her concerns. It didn’t take that much for the Princess to confess her concerns in your company, always placing up walls in defense, only for it to crumble quickly. She is often unpredictable during certain times, allowing you to know what she wishes. Although Rhaenyra refuses to be straightforward, mind bouncing with insecurities, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

This conversation was meant to be a revision for the Princess, testing her ability but it drifted to her father’s succession. The potential possibility of her being overlooked when her newborn brother is born and soon named as heir. It made her feel unwanted, her presence vanishing slowly from the castle walls when the delivery day was nearly approaching.

Will she succumb to such a sad fate? To have no one by her side or even hold a regular conversation without the mention of Baelon?

She knows her enthusiasm about a new sibling should be enough, but the thought of being replaced sickened her to the stomach.

“You’re worried your father is about to overshadow you with a son.” You concluded, finishing the small makeshift braid.

“I only worry for my mother.” She corrects you, her energy still somewhat gloomy. Still, the Princess stared down, plucking away a red maple leaf, “I hope for my father that he gets a son. As long as I can recall, it’s all he’s wanted.”

“You want him to have a son?” The auburn teenage girl shockingly pointed out.

“I want to fly with you and Y/N on Dragonback, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea, and eat only cake.” She dismisses the conversation entirely, her tone purely genuine at the wondrous thought.

“I’m being serious,”

“I never jest about cake,”

“Yeah that’s true, I don’t jest about food either,”

“Food is not the discussion as of this moment, Y/N!”

“Right, sorry, Ali.” You sheepishly nodded, a slight wave of embarrassment passed through your face.

Alicent shakes her head, amusement lacing her features, a smile tugging her lips as she returns her gaze to the discouraged princess.

“You aren’t worried about your position?”

“I like this position, it’s quite comfortable having you and Y/N so close by my side,”

“You know what Ali means,”

“Why are you only testing me? Test Y/N too.” Another dismissal from the current topic wasn’t working in Rhaenyra’s favor. Not when the conversation at hand brought out her dejected fear of being replaced and possibly ignored by the realm and her father alike.

You knew the feeling all too well, having a present father but also absent at the same time. Meanwhile, your mother was your biggest supporter, attempting to fill up the distant love that your father so deeply ignores.

“Y/N already knows this, she doesn’t need revision,”

“Sucks to be you, Princess…” You giggled, scoffing when she shoved your shoulder with her hand. Rhaenyra lets out a huff, rolling her eyes as Alicent continues about the history topic.

“Hey, where’d you get that necklace?” Your eyebrows furrowed in intrigue, noticing the new jewelry, reaching out to further analyze it.

“Oh, umm...” She clutched the necklace in her hand, drifting her attention onto the sky, “Daemon gave it to me.”

Did you hear that right? Daemon gave Rhaenyra a priceless necklace. Surely, it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart, but for his own gain? It’s the only logical explanation, right…?

Was the Princess already perceiving the valryian necklace as too much of her personal value? Will his gift possibly outshine yours?

Upon hearing that statement, you and Alicent shared a confused glance, wanting further elaboration.

“When did he give it to you?” Alicent asked, peering down at the Princess, glimpsing at the valryian steel necklace.

“Just today.” Her eyes fell to yours and Alicent’s as she cleared her throat.

Raising your brows in curiosity, you continued the pestering, “When was he here?”

“Doesn’t matter,” She curtly replied, fiddling with the jewelry. “He left shortly after,”

You hummed silently at her reply, playing with a loose strand of hair, “Why was he here?”

It was imperative to know why he was here. Did she enjoy his company? Was her infatuation with her uncle transforming into something more? Even if it threatened your heart’s desire? You needed answers but Rhaenyra seemed reluctant to give answers.

“He wanted to see me,”

“Alone?”

“Yes, alone.” She repeats, her irritation replacing fake coyness.

You stared at the Princess, unimpressed by her childish behavior, “Where did you meet up with him?”

Were the many annoying questions necessary? Possibly not. Did it give you any sort of ease? Not at all. Was it fun to watch the Princess squirm underneath your unwavering scrutiny and reply with vague answers? Yes, her responses were well-timed.

“In the throne room,”

“Was he sitting on the Iron Throne?”

“Yes, he was–“

“Gods be good, Rhaenyra! Does he have no respect for his own brother?!”

“I met him sitting there! It’s not like he would have listened to me,”

“He still believes he’s to be heir, that’s pure nonsense. Even if there was the tiniest chance of him ascending to the Iron Throne, his impulsiveness would surely cause the kingdom’s early demise. He’s power hungry and bloodthirsty, he’s only of good use to win a war, not start a family with,”

“Do you not like him that much?”

“Perhaps you simply misheard me, I don’t like him at all, I’d rather detest him, he’s like an insistent hound who ruins everything he touches.” You mused, hoping the Princess would surely understand the complexity of this total situation.

A hidden mixture of rage and disgust welled up, coursing through your veins, the familiar Targaryen fire enlightening at the mere desperation of coming forth the longer she remained clueless, or at least pretended to be. But you withhold those overwhelming emotions threatening to speak the truth and lower your tone, sickly calm and collected.

“He should be back at the Vale with his lady wife, Rhea Royce instead of lingering here like a fucking creep. However, I must sympathize with Lady Rhea, to be burdened with the title of being his wife. She is rather beautiful and doesn’t deserve such a Prince as a husband,”

“Y/N is right, from what I heard Lady Rhea is an impeccable woman of taste,”

“I’m not one to resist another’s beauty,”

Turning her head around from you, huffing in jealousy, “Perhaps you should be with Lady Royce instead since you seem so smitten with her,” She retorted under her breath, a burdening unsettling sensation began to form in the pit of her stomach. The pure grimace on her face matched the inner turmoil within her, stirring each time she thought of you and Rhea together. The pairing of the two made her completely forget about Daemon’s surprise visit.

She didn’t like the jealous and possessive nature she gained over you, but it was difficult to bypass, even more so when you complimented another woman’s beauty. Then again, she felt prepared in a way, dreading the day when your wedding day approaches.

What does Lady Rhea have that she doesn’t? She’s a Targaryen princess, she mustn’t stress over the small simple things such as wishing for reciprocated feelings.

Alicent sent her a knowing look at her murmurs, ultimately ignored by Rhaenyra, but settled down.

“Do you feel left out, Princess?”

“No, I’m not. Why should I?”

“Just because I complimented another woman’s beauty doesn’t mean I think any less of you. You’re always in my highest regard, such as Alicent,”

“Good, there’s no need for me to question where your loyalties and love lie.” Her eyebrows relax and a tight-lipped smile appears.

“Although, I must wonder if your feelings had led you astray, reaching into unknown fires that aren’t of your own,”

“You shan’t worry about him, I’m not tarnished yet,”

“If you keep arranging secret meetings with Prince Daemon, you’ll soon be because of him,”

“Do you not trust me, Y/N?” She lets out a bewildered scoff, lifting her head to get a better view of you.

“Of course, I trust you, it’s Daemon I don’t trust, and never will either.” You spoke firmly, refusing to back down.

She exhales tiredly, resting her head against Alicent’s thigh again. “He’s not as bad as you make him out to be,”

“My assumptions are always right, that’s a given. You perceive him in some twisted sort of good light, which I can’t seem to comprehend at all. Look, I care for you deeply, Nyra, and being involved with Daemon isn’t a good idea. He’s a creep and manwhore, don’t throw away your virtue for a man like him. I can only help you to a certain extent and after that, it’s out of my control,”

“I can handle myself,”

“Not around him, right?”

“That was uncalled for,”

“Surely it has the slightest bit of truth,”

“My self-control is of a great deal when involving my uncle,”

“Or lack thereof,” You mumbled, rolling your eyes.

Alicent quietly scoffs to herself, slamming the book shut and rushing to her feet. You repeated the same movements as your Hightower friend, causing Rhaenyra to lose both girls.

“Where are you two going?”

Rhaenyra groans, her head no longer having its support or the preferred enjoyable company.

“Home. The hour has grown late.” Your friend responded, spinning around to face Rhaenyra once again who’s now walking closer.

“Being knowledgeable is not stupid, Rhaenyra. It’s a power that only a few bold women have, who can outsmart these boisterous lords of the court for either our amusement or our satisfaction.” You stood up to your feet, brushing off any invisible dirt specks of your possibly contaminated dress.

“Princess Nymeria led her Rhoynar across the Narrow Sea on 10,000 ships to flee their Valyrian pursuers. She took Lord Mors Martell of Dorne to husband and burned her own fleet off Sunspear to show her people that they were finished running.” During her summary of Princess Nymeria, she rises to her feet and begins to walk over.

“Was that so hard?”

“No, it wasn’t,”

Just like that, Rhaenyra stepped forward and ripped the page right out of the book, startling Alicent with her defiant actions.

“What are you doing?”

“So you remember,” She throws the torn page into the book.

“If the Septa sees this book, then–“

“Fuck the Septa.” You interrupted, closing the book in her hands.

“Y/N!”

“We’ll be fine, the Septa can’t go against the Princess, it’s considered treason to even do so,”

The trio of girls walked alongside each other, you being in between them, arms looped around the other.

“You two are bad influences,” Alicent chuckles, referring to your defiance.

“That’s why you’re here to keep us in line,”

You snuggled your head into the crook of her neck, meeting her soft gaze and earning a faint smile. Rhaenyra playfully rolls her eyes at your interaction, feeling left out with an unwelcoming sensation bubbling upon the surface, yet internally deciding to keep it to herself, not sparking an unnecessary fuss.

“Oh, and did I mention my gifts for you?” You perked up, lifting your head away from Alicent’s neck, much to Rhaenyra’s surprise.

“Gifts? That’s one word I love to hear,”

“Meet me in my chambers when the night bestows,”

“It better be worthwhile,”

“Shush, Rhaenyra!” Alicent shakes her head at the Princess, before turning to you, hands wringing in front of her dress in a semi-anxious manner, “We can’t wait to see the beloved gifts, Y/N.”

It wasn’t hard to see a warm inviting smile plastered on Lady Alicent’s face, her easy-going personality shining through. Besides, the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint your closest friends with a stupid gift. So you weren’t. By the Gods’ good graces, you hoped they’d adore your gifts or else it’ll be an awkward night to follow afterward.

••••

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

© asvterias, 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works onto any other platforms without my permission.

[kurokawaia]

❛ COMFORT ❜

Mello X Fem!Reader

WC; +| !MDNI! | TW/CW :: x fem reader, she/her, afab terms and body, period, blood.

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: Hii I was wondering if you'd want to write like anything to do w period comfort w Mello, it's okay if not 🫶🏻🫶🏻💝 have a nice day - @maeswonders 

A/NOTE :: i made these headcanons with a drabble type at the end, i hope that is alright

m.list | death note m.list

𝐻𝐸𝒜𝒟𝒞𝒜𝒩𝒪𝒩𝒮 ::

Mello may not be the most emotionally expressive person, but he genuinely cares about you. When he sees you're in pain, his usually tough exterior softens. He'll sit beside you, offering quiet reassurances, and sometimes even awkwardly stroke your hair, unsure if he's doing it right but hoping it helps.

Mello learns that a hot water bottle is a lifesaver during your period. He makes sure it's always ready for you, and if he can’t find it, he'll heat up a towel instead, improvising to make sure you’re as comfortable as possible.

Given Mello's own love for chocolate, he understands the craving. He’ll share his stash with you, even giving you his favorite bars. If you're feeling particularly down, he might even make a special trip to get your favorite treats.

He knows that distraction helps, so Mello will set up movie marathons with your favorite films or shows. He’ll make sure the living room is cozy, bringing in blankets and pillows to create a perfect nest for you both.

Despite how Mello's diet is basically just chocolate, Mello will try to cook for you. It might be a bit chaotic, but his effort to make your favorite comfort food is heartwarming. If cooking fails, he'll order takeout from your favorite place.

Mello isn't usually one for excessive physical affection, but during your period, he makes an exception. He’ll pull you close, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight. His body heat is comforting, and he hopes his presence makes you feel better.

He doesn’t mind running errands for you. Whether it’s getting more pads/tampons, picking up a prescription, or grabbing some snacks, Mello is on it. He might grumble about it, but he does it without hesitation because he cares about you >.<

If your cramps are really bad, Mello will attempt to give you a massage. He’s not an expert, but he’ll follow any instructions you give him, pressing gently on your lower back or wherever you’re hurting most.

Mello knows that hormones can make emotions run high. He’s patient when you’re feeling irritable or upset, understanding that it’s not personal. If you snap at him, he’ll let it slide and do his best to keep things calm.

He’ll make sure you have everything you need before bed—extra blankets, a heating pad, your favorite pajamas. Mello might even read to you or tell you stories to help you relax and fall asleep more easily.

Mello knows how tough you are, but he also knows everyone needs support sometimes. He’ll remind you that it’s okay to take it easy and that you’re strong for pushing through the discomfort.

Mello might leave little notes or small surprises for you to find throughout the day. Whether it’s a sweet note telling you he loves you or a small gift, these gestures are his way of showing he cares and is thinking about you.

𝒟𝑅𝒜𝐵𝐵𝐿𝐸 ::

It seems as though someone has been kicking you repeatedly in your lower abdomen region. The TV is on; it's showing something or the other. At this point in time, you couldn't care less regarding that. All you want is for it to just stop.

Mello struts into the room, and his usual confident stride is a bit more cautious today. His eyes land on you immediately as his brow furrows at your clear discomfort.

To you, in the least soft voice, he says, "You look like hell," but in truth, he did mean to be concerned with you. He didn't like seeing you in such pain when he knew it was your own body that was causing it.

"Thanks, Mello. That's really helpful," you reply dryly, but there isn't actually much venom in your tone.

He sighs and takes a seat beside you, putting a hand over your shoulder. "Sorry. I just hate to see you like this. Here." He's got a hot water bottle behind his back, which he passes to you. "I figured this might help."

You take it gratefully, pressing it against your stomach and feeling slight alleviation from the heat. "Thanks," you mumble.

Mello shifts around nervously, clearly out of his depth. "You want anything else? Painkillers? Chocolate?"

You shake your head. "Just stay with me?"

He nods, and his eyes soften. "Of course.

Mello gets up and comes over, reading the signs and returning with a blanket—draping it over you—before he settles back down. You could just sense—that's all—that he tried his very best to comfort you. He pulls you closer to let you rest your head on his chest.

"Wanna watch something specific?" he says, picking up the remote. "Or just keep this on?"

"Something distracting," you answer, so off-key you wince. "Nothing too heavy."

He browses through, choosing a comedy light in spirit—one of those that can always get you laughing. He keeps his arm slung around you, hoping that you will grow to feel better underneath his touch.

After a few minutes, he mutters, "You know, I really have no idea what to do right here. But I'm trying.".

You look up at him, feeling moved by his openness. "You're doing really great, Mello. Just being here helps so much."

"Yeah, well, don't get too used to it. Got a reputation to maintain."

You snort softly, and already feel at least a little better with him here. "Your secret's safe with me."

Mello reclines a bit more, his smirk widening to a full-on smile. "Alright, let's see if this thing is good."

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and likes are appreciated.

m.list | death note m.list

i hope this was okay- 🧍🏼‍♀️